Happily ever after
by Ephy
Summary: After true love, it is sometimes hard to carry on. -Like a fairy tale, part4.
1. Gathering the first fruits of love

**Like a fairy tale part 4 – Happily ever after**

_Note: you might want to read parts 1, 2 and 3 before starting_

**Chapter 1 – Gathering the first fruits of love**

The roof was soaking wet, the snow falling since mid-afternoon and apparently unwilling to stop. However, Bruce felt the warm feeling of a job well done: they had brought in _both_ Penguin and Black Mask. Jim would be meeting them in a few minutes to confirm everything would be handled. Then, they will go back home.

Alone, he would have waited quietly. However, quiet wasn't Grayson, especially after spending several weeks on the bench. No, Bruce was being unfair; Dick was perfectly able to stay put when needed. However, he was _irradiating_ energy, even after all the events of the night.

It was always like that when he was hurt. Bruce would keep him in as long as possible – until worry got replaced by _lassitude_. When Dick didn't spend his energy on patrol he could become tiring.

"Good days, in Gotham, are synonyms with robberies, aggressions and drugs being sold", Dick asserted.

Bruce arched an eyebrow beneath his cowl, since he apparently waited for an answer.

"As opposed to gang wars or meta-humans using their powers to commit crimes", Dick elaborated, grinning, his teeth white in the roof's shadows.

"So today is a good day?" Damian asked, doubt obvious in his voice.

"Crime lords joining their efforts to gain more power totally counts as bad. It is always both annoying per se _and_ a disaster begging to happen."

Bruce tended to agree. Penguin and Black Mask didn't need meta-abilities to be included in the gothamite villains' gallery.

He wasn't sure why they had started to work together. Sixteen of their lieutenants had been killed by the Joker in the previous months. The obvious answer would be that they had wanted to make sure people knew they were still running town.

However, they had proved time and again that they didn't play in teams. _They_ knew as well. They couldn't possibly have trusted each other enough to work together, even for a short period of time. Moreover, a big coup meant a lot of unwanted attention – meant _his_ attention.

Neither criminal was stupid. Stupid didn't stay mob bosses for long, especially in Gotham.

Then _why?_

Steps echoed in the stairs. Nightwing stopped moving, virtually disappearing from view. Robin had never shown himself. Bruce waited. Hopefully, Jim would have the start of an answer.

Hope, like shore, was never constant. Jim was frowning.

Bruce stepped out of the shadow.

"Yes?"

"We found this. On their necks."

Jim handed him the evidence, wrapped in plastic. It was a tiny chip, which design he recognized.

"This is…"

"Tetch's, yes. Except he's been sent to Arkham several months ago. He's still there right now. I checked", Jim added.

The chips gave some control on one's mind, and certainly explained the criminals' odd behavior. However, if this wasn't the Mad Hatter's work…

Only one other person had ever used those before.

"Nightwing, go to Arkham to make sure he's still there. Robin, we're heading back to the Cave to analyze this."

Jim nodded, allowing him to take the evidence away. If both Penguin and Black Mask had had a chip, they still got one for GCPD.

Incidentally, this was a good excuse to send Robin back to the Cave without him disobeying. His behavior had been stellar since Halloween but Bruce didn't feel like taking risks.

"Thank you, Jim", he said, putting the chip in his belt. "I will send you anything I find."

Jim nodded, his eyebrows arched. He heard all what Batman wasn't saying. He, too, remembered the one time the Joker had used those very same chips to Buddy Standler, Harry Loomis and Lisa Lorraine – three comedians whom had offended him.

Batman turned to look at Nightwing. He was frowning, but didn't ask anything out loud, flying away to Arkham instead. Bruce fired his grapple, not in the mood to play with Jim's nerves, and took off. Robin thankfully followed without asking questions.

Things will be moving quickly now, though. Batman needed to be on the field. Maybe he could trust Robin to go back to the Cave by himself, especially if trusted with the mission of analyzing the chip himself. That would allow Bruce to take a little detour to the last known Joker's lairs, at the docks.

Was it worth the risk? People lives were at stake.

Bruce made his decision quickly.

"Robin, take the chip back to the Cave and analyze it", he said, giving the evidence to Damian. "Do _not_ get out of the Cave as long as it isn't done. This is of the utter importance…"

"Tt-tt, of course it is. I will take care of it, father."

Bruce bit his tongue not to insist once again for him to go straight back. It would have sounded way too suspicious. For a second, he regretted having sent Dick away, but they needed confirmation that the Mad Hatter was still in Arkham and he only trusted a check made in the flesh.

Usually, he would have asked Batgirl for help.

Bruce pushed the thought away. He didn't have any other option. Jason was in town but there was no way he would ask him to help, putting him in danger again. Besides, Lex would skin him if he ever did such a thing.

Damian was more than capable. He was merely going back home. He would be fine.

Bruce would soon follow anyway. He intended to go to the warehouse from which the Joker had last shot people on the street, several months prior, just to make sure if it was still unused. If the use of this chip for the second time was a clue meant for him, the second clue would probably be either at the warehouse or at a meaningful place – which, after several years of playing cat and mouse, could be anywhere in the city.

He reached the warehouse in less than ten minutes. Opening one of the skylights was child's play. They were not bobby-trapped. Bruce entered the dark building, almost ready to believe it was unused.

Then he activated his night lenses and saw the table, and what was on it.

The new, green, rounded-eyed Robin's mask.

sososo

There was _so much_ to do! So much to plan! And Tim didn't have any red colored pencil left: he had used it all. His plans involved a _lot_ of red. Purple too, of course, for style.

Tim glanced up. The room was empty; there wasn't anyone with whom to share any of this. How disappointing. But then, it was – he glanced at the clock – 4AM. Most of his boys had gone to sleep two or three hours ago. Huh! They couldn't even take three sleepless nights straight.

He didn't really need them around, anyway. The second part of his scheme had gone tremendously well – with both Penguin and Black Mask away, there was room for a _new_ head of the mafia. However, that would be for later. Now what time for his _solo special_.

Tim dismissed the fact that his vision was starting to blur and put on his coat. Staying awake was a constant fight, but sleeping would be worse. Or trying to. He had done that the first week and, at the beginning, it had been alright. Then Jack's smell had faded from the bed.

Tim didn't want to think about this.

The snow what thick outside, creaking comfortably under the leather of his shoes. It had fallen during the night – again – which meant he got to walk on its smooth, unaffected surface. It was beautifully white.

Tim felt the urge to splash it with fresh blood. Red. Wonderfully red, cracking into brown after a few minutes, alive, gross, perfect.

Incidentally, he had someone in mind to do. Just. That. Tim climbed a building nearby and headed to the route his target would most probably take. According to his estimations, he had a window of about fifteen minutes to play with him. Maybe less if the brat was tired and moving slowly.

Tim hoped for _more_. The snow annoying, dull whiteness was just _begging_ to be stained.

A smirk spread on his lips. He had had several traps ready and oh, look at that! He had caught himself a _bird_.

The brat had landed on a gargoyle, most probably to change the angle of his jump like he had done several times in the previous weeks at that very same spot. Except this time, _glue_ had prevented him from jumping away. Tim had carefully chosen one having the exact same color as the gargoyle for it not to be spotted.

It had worked tremendously well.

The brat was trying to free himself. How _cute_. Tim forced himself to swallow the _rage_ boiling in his mind. (_Robin didn't kill! How had Batman dared to make a killer Robin? How. DARE. HE._)

Because the Joker really shouldn't take those things personally. He should merely be annoyed at Batman having a bird around at all. Robin existed to torture Batman, after all.

"_What_ do we have here?" Tim said in his most irking voice. "Isn't this a _bird?_"

Robin's head snapped in his direction and Tim saw all his muscles tense. Not that it would help him at all; both his feet and one of his hands had been glued to the gargoyle. Tim stayed in the dark nonetheless, out of reach, letting him see nothing but the bottom of his suit purple's pants; he knew the brat was a good fighter.

(Had he not killed? He was better than Tim _had been_.)

Apparently, he also had some sense of observation because the brat _tutted_.

"I don't know who you are, but I don't like cosplayers."

Tim grinned. He was going to enjoy this _so_ much.

(Kill him. _Kill him! He isn't worthy!_)

Hush.

"How incredible!" Tim exclaimed, full of delight. "Neither do _I_…"

His first shot hit the brat in the shoulder, the one he could still move. The brat gasped, not even giving him the satisfaction of a scream. Tim's grin widened.

"… little _leaguer_."

Ah, yes, criticizing _cosplayers_ when _he_ was the one _UNWORTHY! Un. Worthy._ Or only – to be. _Killed._ Yes.

"I wonder", Tim continued, approaching now that the brat wasn't able to use any of his limbs, moving gracefully along the roof border as if they weren't twenty stories over the ground. "Can you still fly if I cut your wings?"

With a bow, he clasped a small charge on the join between the gargoyle and the wall; too small to blow the wanna-be-bird, but strong enough to dissociate the statue from its building. Tim nodded, satisfied.

"You sure can't sing."

The brat's eyes were widening under his mask, Tim could see. The blood was dripping, plop, plop, on the snow – marvelous.

"Drake", the brat breathed in, not entirely horrified enough, but certainly stunned.

Alas, he wouldn't have the time to understand exactly how horrified he _should_ be. Tim wanted to play – but he couldn't afford to let the brat fly away, no, he couldn't. He wouldn't want to turn _insaner_, right?

So Tim made a disapproving noise at the back of his throat.

"Come on, _birdie_. Didn't you read the script? I'm not going around calling you Wayne, am I?" Tim patted his upper lip, thinking. "Actually, maybe I _should!_ This would certainly be quite the joke, wouldn't it?"

"You are as crummy a Joker as you were a Robin", the brat blurted. "You look like a drag queen."

Tim smiled pleasantly, turning around to show him the whole three-piece suit, the green dyed hair, the porcelain white skin.

"I'm glad you _like it_. I'm afraid you won't be able to enjoy this for long, since _you_ will soon look like a badly-cooked pizza." He took the charge's remote control from his front pocket, and smiled. "By-bye!"

He pressed the button on this bad punch line. Not that the brat deserved any better. And he really couldn't _sing_ – he didn't scream when the charge went off, nor when it started falling to the ground. And he really couldn't _fly_ either, huh!

Then another shadow _stupidly_ swung by, catching him little before he reached optimal velocity, brat, gargoyle and all. The shock was still hard enough for the gloves and boots to give in: the statue ended its fall alone, crashing on the ground without. Any. Splatter. Whatsoever.

"No, no, _no!_" Tim protested, pouting. "This was supposed to be a _pizza!_ Pizza without tomatoes aren't real pizzas!"

No one even heard him: both the brat and his – uncapped, Tim noted – savior ended their own trajectory two rooftops away. Considering how they all but crashed themselves, Tim supposed Nightwing's shoulder wasn't as healed as it should have been. That, or the shock had dislocated it.

In both cases, his arrival meant Tim had miscalculated. Tonight wasn't the night he would confront the Bat. Not _yet_.

(Miscalculated! You _idiot!_ _The brat is getting AWAY!_)

Hush. He would get him some other time. He. Would.

(Kill him.)

(Impostor.)

Tim sighed, and took another detonator from his pocket. Pushing it activated the dozens' bombs he had prepared all over town precisely for distraction purpose, just in case. (Always have contingencies plans for your contingencies plans. Right, Batman?)

Besides, the route _Batman_ was most likely to take was the same as Robin's. Tim hadn't trapped only _one_ gargoyle.

sososo

As an Al Ghul, Damian always knew that silence could carry meaning, sometimes more so than words. He was used to _feel_ his mother's consent or reprobation rather than _hear_ it. However, no silence carried more weight than the Batman's – and for so long.

It had been three hours. Three hours since Nightwing and him had been back to the Cave, joined by Batman only a few minutes later. Pennyworth had taken care of their wounds while Grayson reported the main news: Drake was alive.

And, apparently, was replacing the Joker.

Damian still didn't know what to think about it. He had barely managed to hide the shock he'd felt when he had recognized that face, older, thinner, _whiter_ but still unmistakably _Drake's_. Damian was ashamed to admit that had he not been effectively glued to the stone, he might have tripped.

So maybe he understood his father's mood, weighting on them all like lead. This was inconceivable. _Outrageous_. Damian hadn't even _liked_ Drake, but – he had been Robin.

It was startling to realize how much more that title meant than he had first thought.

"We need proof", Batman suddenly said, breaking the silence. "Facial recognition has been tricked before, by our own technology or by meta-powers such as Clayface's."

Batman had had the computer calculate Drake's most probably facial structure well before they had heard about him being possibly alive. It was a match with the recording from the lenses of Damian's mask.

"No test is entirely reliable. People like Luthor tricked DNA before", Grayson pointed out.

Batman nodded gravely.

"The best way to validate Damian's first assessment is to cross-reference several types of testing. Of course, to do so, the best would be to capture the suspect…"

"He was gone when we recovered from the shock", Damian answered immediately.

Batman looked at him, startled. He had apparently not realized his remark could be perceived as disapproval. Good. Damian was furious enough against himself to have fallen for such an obvious trick. Because of his failure, not only had he been wounded, but so had Grayson – _again_. This was unacceptable.

Grayson had looked falsely cheery during the previous days, pretending to be glad to go back to patrol, as if it changed anything to Barbara Gordon's state. Now, he looked _hollow_. That made something twist in Damian's chest.

"Don't call him a suspect, Bruce", Grayson said softly, defeated. "If it's him…"

"If it's him, he tried to kill Damian."

"He tried to kill _Robin_", Grayson corrected, and Damian felt another shock.

Of course – _Halloween_. They knew there had been two guns and had assumed the Joker had had one on each hand. One for Batmen, one for Robins. But if there had been two of them…

Grayson looked, indeed, _gray_, his ashen lips barely moving as he talked.

"We have to help him."

"As long as his identity isn't confirmed…"

"_You know it's him!_ He disappeared _months_ ago and we found _nothing_… God, Bruce, I encouraged you to stop looking, to stop hoping, because he had to be dead…"

Damian recoiled. He wasn't meant to witness this. It was far too intimate. He was deciding to quietly retreat to the stairs when the Cave's clock door burst open.

"Todd", Damian cringed, annoyed at the interruption when Grayson so obviously needed support.

"_Tim is alive?_" Todd exclaimed, all but jumping at the bottom of the stairs.

Batman stepped away from his lover.

"We aren't sure of anything right now."

"_You left the hospital?_" Grayson snapped – snapped! Grayson! "What about Babs? What if someone…"

"_She_ sent me _here_, you moron!" Todd exploded. "Did you really think she wanted me so stand guard if there is any chance that Tim is alive?"

"I don't _care_ about what she wants…!"

"Now that's _rich!_"

"_Enough!_"

Both men stilled. Damian held his breath. There was no contesting Batman's authority over his Robins, former or current.

"Calm down, the both of you. Jason, we haven't assessed the situation yet or we would have called you. There was no need to be so impatient as to leave Barbara unprotected."

Todd tensed.

"Of _course_ you would take his defense. Babs is perfectly capable of making her own decisions, contrarily to what both of you think! And she isn't one to let herself be paralyzed by fear."

"She is _literally_ paralyzed, Jason!" Grayson protested.

"Is it like this all the time?"

The interruption came from a rich, cultivated voice at the bottom of the stairs. And it wasn't Pennyworth's, but _Luthor's_.

"What are you doing here?" Batman cringed.

Luthor came down the stairs.

"Don't worry, Bruce, I don't intend to disturb your toys. Or your boys."

Batman raised his eyebrows. Luthor smirked at him.

"That one is _mine_."

"Oh, shut up", Todd protested.

He was, however, relaxing, his posture much less aggressive than when he first arrived. It was quite astonishing, considering how tense he always was.

"I left Mercy at Ms Gordon's side", Luthor specified. "I'm sure she would be more than capable to scare any foe away. Especially if the Joker isn't part of the equation anymore."

"We aren't sure of anything yet", Batman stated once again, his voice neutral.

"When was the last time you saw him in person?"

"It doesn't mean anything. He is known to be unpredictable."

Luthor nodded, conceding the point. Damian felt irked.

"_Why_ did you say you were here, again?" he asked, not bothering to soften his tone. "You are no part of this family."

Damian saw Grayson cast him an astonished glance from the corner of his eye. In front of him, Todd snorted.

"I'm afraid he's part of mine."

Damian glared at him, to no avail. One might as well glare at a rock.

"So", Todd asked around. "What do we do?"

Batman turned his back to him in a rustle of his cape, walking back to the console.

"Now, we track him down."

sososo

It had been a while since last time Jason had felt the wind of Gotham on his cheeks like this, flying over the city, hiding in its shadows. Despite the lack of practice, he didn't forget. How could he have? He was Gotham born and raised. He had known her rooftops well before Bruce found him.

Bruce would have a heart attack if he discovered what he was up to. Scratch that, _Lex_ would have a heart attack – which was much more worrying.

However, he had to do it. He had to _act_.

Jason stopped at the top of the old clock tower, the city stretching beneath him. In Metropolis, it made you feel like a king. Here, it only stunk – but hey, it was home.

Tim was alive. It should have been good news.

Jason swallowed and resumed his patrol. He had to find him, to talk to him – to bring him back _home_ before Bruce bruced it up. Tim had done so much for Jason. Jason could only reciprocate.

He had avoided taking any grapple not to be tempted to follow his old habits. Tim knew them all and had trapped enough of the vantage points for it to be really dangerous. Instead, Jason had taken his knives and just jumped from roof to roof, using them to climb more easily when needed. He still followed Robin's patrol route, but not from the same point of view, which allowed him to disarm several traps.

He had hoped to get Tim's attention. Apparently, he had only managed to make a fool of himself.

Maybe he should just head home. Or, you know, the penthouse Lex pretended to be renting when, in reality, he had bought it the day after Babs had been hurt. Jason pretended not to notice Lex was preparing to open a LexCorp division in Gotham. Bruce would have a fit when it would open its doors.

Jason was a bit sorry to have forced Gotham on his lover. A _little_ bit.

Sighing, he jumped from the tower to a rooftop nearby. He had to keep going – but he could do so the next day. He felt the need of a dose of Lexitude right now. That, or Prozac.

Less than twenty minutes later, he was landing on the penthouse's balcony. The window was conveniently open, which meant he wouldn't have to break in.

Wait a minute. It was _winter_. Either Lex knew he was flying around or…

"… in _my_ city, did you?"

Company. Jason slid silently toward the entrance; it was dark outside while all the lights were on inside so only noise would betray him. Besides, the intruder was facing Lex, giving his back to the window – stupid, or he'd just gotten in.

His hair was green. His suit was purple. _God_, this was…

"Tim?"

Pointing a gun at Lex. A _gun_. A real one. _Tim_.

The pretend Joker rotated slightly to face both of them, still pointing his gun at Lex. And it was Tim. Smiling madly, his face inhumanly white, but _Tim_, Tim, alive.

Jason smirked.

"Care to explain what you think you're doing with my lover, little brother?"

Tim pouted.

"No brother of mine is that dark-skinned. Who are you to get in by the window, a bird?"

"Didn't you get in exactly the same way?"

"I'm not a bird!" Tim protested, his hand never trembling. "I'm a _magician_."

Jason snorted.

"Yeah, right. I'd rather call _you_ a bird."

That might have been a mistake.

"_I'M NO BIRD!_" Tim howled, turning to face Jason.

The second his gun stopped pointing at Lex, a batarang left Jason's hand. Too predictable: even angry, Tim still had been trained by Batman and knew his tricks. He rolled elegantly on the ground – and started shooting.

Jason retreated outside: the windows were bullet-proof. He saw Lex get out and close the door behind himself. _Good_. He would probably be calling Mercy.

"Tim!" Jason tried. "Calm down, little brother, it's me."

"I'm not listening!" Tim sing-songed.

And he kept firing. How many damn rounds were in that gun!? It stopped for a second, but Jason hope to take it to first didn't last: the kid was taking another from his suit's poker. As if that was a place to hold a gun!

"Kitty, _kitty_…"

"Tim! Please, calm down. It's me, alright?"

"Who's that Tim-guy you keep calling? You're hurting my feelings, ignoring me so!"

"_Tim!_"

Jason didn't find the words. What had he intended to say, when he'd found him? Nothing. He just wanted to hug him close. To pretend everything was alright.

Everything wasn't alright, and Tim was pointing a gun at him.

Jason cast another batarang. The lamp broke; he rolled back inside. Tim had moved already, dancing around like – _damn him_ – the Joker would have.

_Where was the damn clown?_ Jason had to show Tim that _he_ wasn't the Joker. The best way to do so would be to point the real one at him. If he was still alive.

What the fuck had the world come to if one hoped the Joker was alive?

"You're not the Joker!" Jason yelled, trying to catch his brother's wrist without taking a bullet in the brain. "You're Tim Drake!"

"Try _again!_"

Jason did catch his arm this time. A bullet was fried – in the wall, thankfully.

"You _are!_ You're my brother, please, Tim, don't you remember me?"

He managed to twist the arm badly enough for the kid to drop the damn gun. He relaxed for a second. Mistake! Pain exploded in his shoulder, strong enough for him to take a few steps back.

Tim lit a zippo. The dancing flame made his grin even more horrendous. He had a bloody knife in the other hand.

"Your blood tastes of chicken", Tim laughed, then he threw the knife.

Everything went black.

sososo

Lex disliked hospitals. They smelled of medicine, were full of whining patients and busy doctors, and proposed no comfort for a man who had a business to keep going. Fortunately, he had enough money to both keep annoying people at bay and make room for a desk. Things weren't perfect, but then, one had to make some sacrifices when one decided to take a stupid brat as lover.

Bodyguards kept watch, out of his sight. Only Mercy was with them inside the room, sitting next the window, and Lex himself. If the new clown intended to pull another trick, he would be welcomed like only _special guests_ were.

The lying form on the bed stirred. Jason grunted.

"Why do I always see your face first, Graves?" he mumbled, quite articulate considering his situation.

"Because you're clumsy enough to get yourself wounded", Mercy answered icily.

Jason glared. Well, the damages weren't _that_ important.

Lex got up. Mercy retreated in a corner, allowing them to pretend they were alone. He went to the sickbed side. Jason looked at him, lips pursed, the fog already clearing from his eyes.

"_What?_" Jason demanded.

"He is dead", Lex said flatly. "As soon as my men find him."

Jason glared some more. Unimpressive when one was used to Bruce Wayne. Not that Lex was more impressed by Wayne than he was by Jason.

"How long did you take to come back?"

"A few minutes."

"Did he leave already?"

Lex didn't lose time glaring. However, his lack of answer was answer enough.

"He did, didn't he?" Jason insisted. "He didn't kill me."

"No, he toyed with you instead."

Jason clumsily raised one of his arms. It was covered in small cuts, going by threes: two eyes, one smile. _Smileys_.

"He didn't _kill_ me", Jason insisted.

Lex didn't shout at him. Didn't even purse his lips. After all, the boy could talk; he didn't have to listen.

"Do you hear me? It's _Tim!_ You don't get to kill him because he _toyed _with me."

Jason was pretending to give orders. Lex heard the plea. He didn't care, though; Tim it might have been, a year or so ago. It was not anymore. Which was disappointing; he had enjoyed the kid's company, once.

"_Lex_."

"He didn't kill you", Lex admitted. Then, matter-of-factly, he added: "he shot two dozen kids in Robin costume last Halloween, however?"

Jason stilled. Then looked at his right. There was an empty flowerpot on the nightstand. It tinkled nicely when crashed against the wall.

That look on Jason's face was the reason why Lex was going to kill Tim Drake. He, however, kept going:

"And Harleen, though that's less relevant."

"The bitch deserved it."

The brat certainly knew how to replace mourning with rage. Lex waited for the feeling to have stabilized before asking:

"Do you want to hear what I found?"

Jason nodded. So Lex told him. He had pulled a few strings, talked to old _friends_ – people he'd sworn never to contact again but, alas, drastic times… – and managed to reconstruct most of the tale. Prisoner, lover, partner in crime… killer.

Of course, Lex was no Robin specialist and had not known Tim Drake for long. They had, however, conversed regularly during the few months of his stay to Lex Tower. It wasn't difficult to image the kid would have rather died than become like _this_.

Jason kept his face blank. Lex waited.

Then Jason nodded.

"You may kill him."

It was raining inside.

_sososo_

_Notes:_

_Sorry it took me so long to post this one :) I hope you still enjoy the series! Please let me know what you think ;)_

_Also, this started it (sorry, I'm not really a good artist, but still I had to post it XD)_

_ic___._pics___._livejournal___._com/fyin/4481892/16145/16145_original_

_(Note: add .jpg at the end, ffnet formatting be damned)_


	2. Blood within the shoe

**Chapter 2 – Blood within the shoe**

How stupid, _stupid, stupid!_ Tim hated people acting stupid. Did he go and try to kill Batman? _No_. He merely got a show at the unworthy _brat_. Which totally was his prerogative.

Did he go and try to kill or even just _hurt_ civilians? No, _again_. Well, mostly not civilians. Well, not Jason, anyway. Because Jason didn't qualify as a Bat anymore, did he? _Did he? _And a consequence, Tim didn't try to kill him.

But Jason _had _to intervene in a perfectly private matter. Lex Luthor was a supervillain. He had nothing to do in Tim's city. In _the Joker's_ city. The Joker could tolerate small fish such as Ivy or Penguin, but Luthor was Superman's Nemesis and Tim didn't want Superman in town. (Nor Jason, really – it would be much better if Jason stayed away.)

_Jason should have stayed out. Of. This._

Wasn't he supposed to live in Metropolis anyway? _Gotham was not good for him!_ How couldn't he _see _that, clear as day?

Tim sighed heavily, despaired by the lack of insight of human being in general. Jason didn't get it, so Tim had to hurt him, _hard_, hopefully hard enough to drive both Luthor and him out of town. If this didn't work, he would have to find something else, something _bad_.

Tim opened the door of his lair, ready to look for red pencils – and blinked. There was a big, black, smoky card on his desk.

Someone had been in his lair. To leave a card. On his desk.

This was impossible. No one knew where he was. If someone found out, it would be Luthor, or Bruce – Batman! Batman. Not _Bruce_ – and neither would just leave a card. More probably dynamite (Luthor) or sleeping gas (Batman).

Conclusion: this was an impossible situation. Being afraid of an impossible situation was pointless. Logical Joker reaction? Laugh.

"Well, _well_, what _is_ this?"

Not only wasn't Tim afraid; he sought distraction. He picked up the card.

It wasn't made of paper but of solid shadow, which explained the smoke curling around it. _Cute_. Magic explained a lot about how it arrived there in the first place. He didn't like the idea of magic users in _his_ city, though.

He flipped the card.

"_Dear Mr Joker,_" it said in a beautiful calligraphy. "_As assumed heir to Harley Quinn, The Black Fairies kindly require you to visit their offices in order to take over Ms Harley Quinn's contract or to release them from its binding. Our offices are open from 9AM to 6PM. Blow on the card to open the door. Yours sincerely…_"

The signature was unreadable. Of course.

As such, Tim didn't feel himself bound by any contract signed by _Harleen Quinzel – _of all people! However, his curiosity had been aroused.

It was still only 4PM. He didn't need his plan to be ready before the next day. No need to hesitate; he blew on the card.

Its strange fuming darkness opened like a flower, growing until its petals became big enough to take him in entirely. They didn't, however, waiting courteously for him to step him. Tim grinned – and entered the fascinating portal.

On the other side, the sky shone purple around a cozy little manor, suspended in nothingness. Tim stood on a shadowy, smoky path leading to its door, which apparently was part of the portal.

Excellent security system, Tim had to admit: even if one had managed to take the card from him, people in the house would see the uninvited newcomer and would certainly be able to make the path disappear – he wondered for how long one would fall in this kind of place. Until one died of thirst, most probably.

(This was surreal.)

(This was _amazing_.)

He put on his biggest smile, checked his suit didn't bear any crease, and went to knock on the door.

The woman who came to open had white hair and the face of a 20-year-old. Entirely dressed in black, she was a striking doppelganger to Tim's dark green hair and colorful outfit.

Tim bowed gracefully.

"I have been invited to settle some administrative problem, I think?"

"Oh, you must be the Joker! Yes, yes please, come in! I'm Ms Luz, nice to meet you."

She has a delightful red-lipped smile. Tim followed her inside, and realized that – of course – it was much bigger than it seemed from the outside.

Maybe he ought to learn some magic. It could be useful.

"May I be so bold as to ask what kind of contract we are talking about, my dear?"

She blinked.

"A child, obviously. We are the Black Fairies."

Obviously she said, and obvious it was: Tim noted two children hurrying at the top of the stairs, and when he listened, he could hear the faint sound of a teacher giving class.

This place was a boarding school.

Oh, _Harleen_.

"Dear Harley had a child?" Tim kept his voice dangerously courteous. "She never mentioned any."

That's to say, certainly not to him.

"We will produce the contract, of course. This way, please."

Tim spent the next forty minutes talking business. The fairies weren't especially impressed by the Joker, which was either a sign of strength of a total lack of survival instinct. Considering they were magic users living on another plane, Tim didn't really mind. Besides, they were being well-mannered and mostly didn't try to screw him.

He did know enough about law and magical binding not to let them, even if they _had _tried.

"Alright, everything is in order", headmistress Evermore finally agreed. "We only need your signature."

Tim smiled.

"Maybe I should meet the child first? How old _is_ she?"

He had gathered the child's gender thirty minutes earlier, when he had seen her name on the contract: Duella. Sounded more like a Dent than like a Jackson, but, ah, well.

"She's an adorable little twelve years old", Ms Luz assured.

None of the children Tim saw when he had requested the manor's tour had been a teenager. Besides, the fairies weren't stupid: a 12-year-old couldn't possibly be Tim's child. Which meant they knew there had been another Joker – and didn't care, as long as he signed with his new name.

Huh! Fairies.

"Oh, so old _already_?" he said in a disconsolate tone. "Care to remind me until when she is supposed to stay in your care?"

"Until her majority of course!" the headmistress huffed.

Tim made himself even more polite.

"And I'm sure you consider her underage, hence in your care, until her 18th birthday?"

"She will of course come of age when he hits 18", the headmistress assured.

"According to your rules?" Tim insisted, smiling.

"According to the rules of your own country."

"Which are, of course, the same as yours?"

The headmistress smiled indulgently.

"You can't expect us to apply the rules of their country of origin to each child, Mr Joker."

Her chair had a very high, very thick wooden back. Tim's knife penetrated it easily, one inch away from her left ear. Her smile disappeared. Tim's widened.

"When do fairies stop considering one a child, my dear?" he asked in his sweetest voice.

"It would be when the child reaches puberty", admitted Ms Luz reluctantly.

Tim sighed.

"Soon, way too _soon_. I don't have time for a child!"

"We could arrange for one more year", the headmistress proposed.

"I would hope our current contract will cover _at least_ one year. When this time is passed, we can renegotiate."

The Joker's name did have some weight in this place, because both women nodded unwillingly. Tim grinned.

"Well, then! Can I meet the child while you revise our contract accordingly?"

sososo

The night weighted on his shoulders. The cape and suit, which usually felt more comfortable than any suit Bruce might wear, were constricting his movements, pulling him down.

He wasn't the only one feeling down. The lack of smile on Nightwing's face made the night even grimmer. Bruce wanted to kiss the curve of those lips until his eyes shone again behind their mask. And yet – he didn't find the strength to do just so, to pull him inside the cocoon of Batman's cape for a few seconds just to forget everything else.

Because they could not forget.

The night was heavy. Bruce's back was rigid, his arms awkward, the air burdensome. Nightwing silent. Robin was constricted to the Cave until they caught the new Joker, his injury being the perfect pretext to have him obey. Not that Damian was the most cheerful boy, but even he would have helped.

Everything felt _wrong_.

Bruce landed on a rooftop. He felt old. Weary. He couldn't afford that – the mission was too important for him to let his feelings weight him down. But…

Tim. Tim had been… Sunny. A bowl of fresh air. _Robin_. Tim had been the most _Robin_ of all Batman's Robins, Dick excepted. He had been so eager to help people, to do _good_. And now…

They hadn't managed to test his DNA just yet, but it didn't really matter anymore. Bruce knew how Tim thought – how he had thought, before – and the way the Joker's henchmen were behaving definitively was a match.

First, they had taken out the families' lieutenants. Then Black Mask and the Penguin, arrested. And now, they focused into taking over their businesses before the release of the two supervillains.

"I'll take the back", Nightwing said.

Bruce nodded, giving him a minute to go around the warehouse. They had to stop the Joker before he finished taking over Gotham's underworld. Even if they had not managed to find _him_, most of his men weren't so discreet.

The minute was up. Bruce slipped inside.

The place had high ceiling and metallic structure. Perfect to go around unnoticed. He hung the first man by its feet, letting him scream his fear to the others, yet too high for them to be able to help him down.

"It's the Bat!" someone exclaimed.

For a moment, the cape didn't feel heavy at all. Bruce slid from one shadow to the next, taking the thugs down without being seen. He could taste their fear. Briefly, he saw Nightwing's white teeth shine in the dark.

Then his body went rigid.

Bruce managed to roll on the top of a stack of boxes. The rigidity had come as a reflex, he realized. He didn't feel pain, more like… pressure in his chest. And his arm, his left arm. This was his _heart_ he realized with a pang.

Nightwing landed next to him, obviously worried.

"B?" he whispered.

"Finish the job", Bruce groaned.

Nightwing hesitated. Batman glared at him. It was hard, because the pain in his arm was sharp, radiating up to his neck and jaw.

"Finish. The job. I'll wait for you here."

Dick seemed to get that taking the remaining men down would take less time than convincing him and flew away. Bruce pulled his legs against his chest. His stomach burned as if he was having heartburns. He could still hear his heart, beating erratically.

Damnit. _Damnit_.

A hand caressed his shoulder.

"B, I'm back." It was Nightwing's soft voice. "Penny One is on his way with the Batmobile. B?"

"Good."

Everything had been cared for. Now, maybe, he could close his eyes, just for a second.

"_Batman!_"

sososo

She was just some _girl_.

Tim had eyes to see. Most of the others were metahumans, magical or at the very least aliens – he had been able to classify only a very low 34% of them. But her? She was a human, boring girl, with Harley's noise and mouth.

At least she was red-haired. Not Jack's shade at all, though. She didn't have anything from Jack. Of course she did not: twelve years ago, Jack didn't know about birds and bees. Nor birds and clowns.

And she stood there, _frowning_ at Tim.

"You're not my father", she said flatly. "You can't possibly be older than 15."

Tim straightened.

"I'm _17_", he corrected, pouting. "_And_ your father. You're the Joker's daughter, aren't you?"

The girl looked at him. Her eyes were cold – no, not cold, more… Devoid of emotions. She understood that if she didn't accept him as her father, she wouldn't be able to stay at the House of the Black Fairies. Tim smiled.

"You are. Here, I've got sweets."

He gave her a pink lollipop. She unwrapped it, unfazed, and put it in her mouth.

"My father, alright. What happened to my mother?"

"Oh", Tim shrugged. "I killed her."

Duella nodded, as if she had expected that answer.

"Did you also kill the previous Joker?"

"There is no _previous_ Joker", Tim protested. "And the Joker cannot die. I merely exchanged my old body for a new one. Younger. Prettier."

She didn't look impressed.

"So what happened to the previous body?"

That _tone_, devoid of any feelings… She had to be a bit sociopathic. Tim _liked her_.

"Well, I had to kill it so I could, you know? Move on. I miss him sometimes."

He forced a sad note in his voice, for the dramatic effect. Curiously, the little sociopathic preteen seemed to guess that he was actually affected by Jack's death. She smiled for the first time. Her smile was as empty as the rest of her.

It was those eyes. They were very blue. Like Harleen's, but more piercing.

Tim titled his head.

"I will go sign the contract now", he said. "Maybe I'll be back. With more sweets."

She observed him for a few seconds with those blue eyes of hers, then nodded.

"I'll be waiting."

sososo

To say he had always known this would happen would be a lie. When Dick was still Robin, was still full of innocence and bright colors, he had thought Batman and Robin would go on forever. He had thought Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson would be together until the day they'd die, probably heroically, or maybe they would just disappear someday and people would tell stories about how they had been kidnapped by the black fairies.

Or something like that. He had not given it a lot of thought.

Growing up, he had imagined they would die on the job. After all, theirs was a harsh mission, and Bruce wouldn't stop at anything, certainly not at his own human abilities. If he had, Batman would never had been born in the first place.

But since Nightwing… Dick had seen Bruce was only human. He had seen him fall on patrol because he was running a fever so high he couldn't even stand. He had seen him with his back broken. He had seen him lose Jason.

But his back had healed, and Jason had been back, and they'd _become a couple – _something Dick had stopped dreaming for when he'd reached 18 – and… Dick had hoped they would still have time.

Hell, Bruce was only 34. He was 34 and had been Batman for more than a decade.

This was crazy. And this stopped, now.

"Master Richard?"

Dick forced himself to smile at Alfred, who entered the room carrying a small trail of food. The old man sighed at the untouched dishes he had left a few hours earlier – was it so long ago already? – and replaced them by the new, smoking-hot ones.

"I really suggest you to take better care of yourself", Alfred said, gentle and yet displeased. "Not only should you keep your strength for yourself, but also for others, who worry about your well-being."

_Why would they? He'd only had his little brother turned into the Joker, his best friend paralyzed and his lover recovering from a heart surgery._

That little voice sounded way too much like Jason to Dick's liking. Oh, right, let's not forget his _other_ little brother who had just gotten _out _of the hospital, because previously-mentioned-turned-to-Joker-brother had tried to kill him. Thank God, he had healed _suspiciously_ quickly. Dick guessed Luthor had used untested technology on him.

At least they had enough medical equipment at the manor for Bruce to have been brought back only a few days after his surgery. Dick had suggested Luthor and Jason to move in as well. Luthor had said they would think about it, Jason had started protesting – Dick had left the room when the conversation got heated, before having received an answer.

There wasn't enough of them. There was no way in hell that Dick would let Damian get out of the manor's ground in the current situation, and alone – what could he possibly do alone?

"Master Richard", Alfred insisted gently.

"I will eat, I promise."

He didn't want to let Bruce's hand go, which was going to be a problem, but he would eat. At some point.

"You do realize the lack of nutrition is not going to solve any of your current problems, I am sure."

Dick glared at Alfred, then felt like a fool. No one glared at Alfred but Bruce, and he never did so for the right reasons.

The old butler merely smiled at his embarrassment.

"I dare to say that confronted to an impossible situation, you might want to require some help."

"I know you're there for us, Alfred, but…"

"I wouldn't suggest myself, Master Richard, though I'm sure you know I will always stand by your side."

Dick blinked, looking at him. Alfred didn't frown. He didn't need to.

"But certainly those friends of yours could be of some assistance? Or even Master Bruce's."

"You mean Clark."

Damn, he hadn't even _called_ Clark. Did he know? One more look at Alfred answered that question: of course he knew. It was surprising he hadn't knocked at the door three days ago. Was it because Luthor was in Gotham? Didn't they make peace or something, because of Kon?

God, _Kon_. He had been Tim's best friend. Did _he_ know?

"I am truly sorry to bring up those additional worries", Alfred apologized.

Dick shook his head.

"No, you're right of course. I should… Take care of things. And yes, there's people who might help. Or at least, be there. Or something."

He wouldn't let them interfere with Gotham of course. But decisions had to be taken.

First of all, Dick had to put some people out of danger. He couldn't _think_ with both Jason, Damian and Barbara at risk.

"Where is Damian?"

"In the basement, I presume. He has been working very hard."

Training, yes, Dick supposed he would do that. Damian wasn't going to like what Dick was about to do.

He tried to get up, but Alfred put a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Yourself first, Master Richard."

Dick sighed, then nodded. He pulled the trailer closer, picked up the fork, and started to eat.

sososo

Jason watched Gotham getting smaller and smaller until the jet entered the clouds and hid it from view. He hated to run away like this. But then…

But then, Dick had pulled some strings to get Babs into the best physiotherapy clinic of the state, which incidentally was situated both out of Gotham and not so far for Jim Gordon not to be able to visit every week-end. Jason hated himself for not staying with her but the place was way too remote for Lex to be able to settle there as he had in Gotham.

It was time for them to go back home, anyway, Jason knew. But still.

"Do you think he'll manage to get the brat out as well?"

"Aren't you here with me?" Lex deadpanned.

Jason rolled his eyes.

"Ha. Ha. Ha. You know who I meant."

"I know for a fact that he asked Clark to shelter the boy."

Dick had asked _Superman_ to babysit Bruce's spawn. Well. It was nothing if not efficient: Clark wouldn't let anything happen to him.

"How far away did people hear Damian scream his protestations?"

"I heard he closed his jaw on dear Dick's ankles and refused to let go."

Jason snorted. The image was very vivid. Even with an arm injured, the kid was _scary_.

"Good kid. Not that I want him in danger any more than Babs…" Or Lex, but Lex would just glare if he pointed it out. "But Batman needs a Robin."

Lex arched an eyebrow.

"I doubt Bruce will be flying around any time soon."

"Oh, I didn't mean Bruce."

Lex seemed to think about it. No, scratch that; he seemed to estimate about a hundred possibilities and their consequences.

"I guess Dick would take on the cowl. He did so when Bruce was looking for Tim, didn't he?"

"With the Joker up to mayhem, Gotham needs Batman to be out. And it can't be Bruce, so… Yeah, of course Dick will. He will hate that, but he'll do it nevertheless."

"Kon will be very glad to hear that he won't have to share his room with a child in the end."

Jason darkened at the mention of Lex's kid.

"We have to tell him about Tim."

Lex waved a hand dismissively.

"I am sure Dick mentioned him to Clark."

"So you intend to let _him_ tell Kon about his best friend being a mad supervillain?"

Lex _looked_ at him. Right. Why would he possibly want to have this kind of hard conversation with his own son when someone else could do just that?

"You are a bad, bad man", Jason snorted.

"Didn't you deduce as much when I took advantage of your Stockholm syndrome to fuck you?"

"I should get that on tape. So much blackmail material."

"Not anymore. You're 19."

Jason smirked.

"Well, I was 15 when I disappeared, wasn't I? That I didn't press charges before only shows how strong your hold on me was."

Lex laughed fondly.

"When we are back, I am going to take you on the balcony."

Jason straightened. The penthouse was, well a penthouse, and LexTower was _very_ high.

"You moron. You only do that to traumatize Superman."

"I never do anything for only _one _reason", Lex admitted with his sharkest smile.

Jason shuddered. The nanomachines had taken care of his injuries so well that even the smiley scars were fading. He totally could take Lex's stamina. Hell, _yeah_.

"I'll have to train _your_ brat. Or _Mercy_ should."

Her total lack of patience for anyone in general and teenagers specifically would do wonders on the superkid.

"Mercy will be staying in Gotham for a few more weeks", Lex casually announced. "I am still opening a division there and I don't trust anyone else with the preparation in _this_ city."

Meaning, she was trying to find Tim. To kill him. Jason looked outside the window. Unfortunately, clouds didn't provide much of a diversion.

Flying boys, however, did. Jason smirked.

"You might have to be the one explaining life to your son, I'm afraid."

It was always delightful to hear Lex curse.

sososo

Damian grappled around the buildings, lips pursed. The current circumstances had only lasted too long. They had lasted too long and their consequences were becoming too aggravating to be dismissed. Grayson had been hurt, then Todd; now father was disabled and they talked about _sending him to Metropolis_.

He had to put his foot down.

He landed on a gargoyle to allow his arm to rest. The pain was not a problem. However, if the wound started bleeding again, he wouldn't be able to face the Joker whenever he would show up. And he was going to – he had made it clear that he considered Robin a target. Seeing him go around alone would be too much of a temptation.

Why father had stubbornly refused to use him as a bait was a total mystery. Damian had not even tried to submit the idea to _Grayson_; the man was far too concerned by Damian's well-being to contemplate this plan. His protectiveness was offensive. Damian was more than able to defend himself, he wasn't to be treated like a mere child!

He hated to also find him comforting.

However, when this concern pushed Grayson to take foolish decisions such as sending him away – it was time for Damian to _act_.

They were all being unreasonable, influenced by the Joker's previous identity. The villain had now proved several times that he had no consideration at all for those who still saw him as family. Damian had not known him for long enough to have labeled him his brother – but the betrayal felt by Grayson and the others made him furious.

Damian gritted his teeth, climbing the building to gain a better vantage point, which would also make him more noticeable. The Joker targeting Robin felt personal – it _was_ personal. Even to Damian's eyes. Because the betrayal of _Robin's title_ was painful.

When Damian had arrived at the manor, he had been sure the title would be handed to him right away. After all, his skills and blood were obviously superior to Drake's. He had been startled to see not only his father, but _all_ the members of the household think that Drake title was unchallenged by Damian's claim.

At first, Damian had thought them unqualified. Who were they to deem him unworthy when he was their better? But then, Todd had proved himself a decent warrior. Grayson himself had demonstrated his abilities. And his father, of course, didn't have to – he was the Batman after all.

So Damian had tried to understand what it was that they wanted from him, what skill the League of Shadows had failed to give him. What possibly could someone like _Drake_ have that he, Son of the Bat, heir to the Demon, did not.

And he had started to see it. Just a bit. Something, that the boy had. Damian couldn't quite put words on it, even now. But it had been – Robin.

And now. _Now._ He, who had been considered Damian's better, had become _this_.

"Are you lost, birdie?"

Damian snarled, taking a batarang in his hand like a knife to attack the shadow who appeared behind him. The slim figure laughed, moving around as if dancing instead than fighting. And yet Damian didn't manage to touch him. He was dodging, sometimes using his _glittered cane_ to deflect his blows.

_How was it possible?_ Drake had barely been able to handle himself before disappearing!

"I am not, in fact." Talking to the clown was beneath him, but some things had to be said. "I was looking for you."

The Joker moved away from his blade, putting a hand on his chest.

"You were? I'm _touched_!"

Damian let his rage melt away, concentrating on his target. His movements had to be prefect. Thoughtless. Lethal.

"_I_ am going to stop you."

The Joker laughed – but his grin was twisting with rage.

"You are _nothing!_"

"I am Robin. And I _will_ put a stop to your activities. Right now."

Drake had failed Robin, and Robin would put him down. The batarang left Damian's hand. This first long-distance attack took the Joker by surprise at last, pinning his shoulder to the wall. Damian jumped on him, taking advantage of his pain to pin the other one in the same way.

Then he took a step back to draw his katana. He didn't smirk: this wasn't satisfying. Only necessary.

The Joker looked at him, as if curious. Then he smiled. Slowly, he titled his head back, giving him his throat.

"Go on", he said. "_Please_."

Damian gripped the hilt of his sword. He had not expected the Joker to be afraid. Actually, he _had_ expected him to taunt him. But to beg for death? Except – no. He wasn't begging to be killed. He was begging for _Damian to kill_.

The feeling of stillness brought up by their short fight broke in pieces, replaced by the same intense rage Damian had felt when he had first met Drake. This outrageous, _worthless_ upstart had _no right_ to look at him this way! No right to offer him pity nor contempt! He was _Damian Al Ghul_, he was _the heir to the Demon!_

The blade slashed the offered flesh, deep enough to draw blood.

Not deep enough to cut into either the carotid or the jugular, nor to reach the trachea.

He was _Robin_.

sososo

_Ending notes:_

_So, yeah, all those who played to either of the Arkham games, I did it on purpose. Also, the games are awesome._

_On another note, I forgot to point it out on chapter one but this time I'm using "twisted ending" of fairy tales as chapter titles. "Gathering the first fruits of love" is from the Sleeping Beauty. "Blood within the shoe" is from Cinderella, when one of the sister-in-law actually cut her own foot so it would fit the shoe._

_And finally, the Black Fairies. For those who remember, I talked about them in the very first scene from "To Steal a Rose" ;)_


	3. As the foam of the sea

**Chapter 3 – As the foam of the sea**

Tim whistled some tune while jumping from one roof to another, happy. Everything was well in Gotham city! He was taking over, he had met a wanna-be daughter in case he wanted an heir – huh! – and he had literally broken Batman's heart.

No, no. _Figuratively_. Hearts didn't actually break, alas. Except if you get a freeze gun? Oooh, _yes_.

"_You know you got it if it makes you feel good_", he sung, only half tuned, then chuckled.

He would have to make sure Batman survived though. The game simply wouldn't be as _fun_ without him. Big bad Nightwing wasn't quite up to the task.

(He didn't care at all about Bruce dying.

(_He never came._)

(Where was he supposed to go, already? Tim forgot.)

But the fun – the fun was important, right? So there.)

And Jason had left the city, heading back to Metropolis. Which was a _good_ thing, especially since he had taken his supervillain boyfriend with him. But he had lost _all the smiles_ Tim had worked so hard to give him! The boy didn't smile quite enough. Next time, maybe Tim should go for his mouth? Something _permanent_.

Tim stopped at the bottom of a chimney, breathing the smoke-tainted air of the city. The tech which had allowed him to heal so quickly was _intriguing_. Should he dare to follow them to Metropolis and steal it from Luthor?

No. _No._ No getting out of Gotham. _Never getting out._ He _belonged_ to Gotham.

Thankfully, he wouldn't need to leave the city. Wasn't LexCorp about to open a division right here? Mhh.

A flash of yellow distracted him from his thoughts. Black over yellow, red over green. Tim gritted his teeth, forcing his lips into a smile. _Robin_. The brat was taunting him.

_He was going to get what he deserved_.

Tim fought that first impulse back, composing himself. A little bird full of colors flying alone in Gotham? It had to be a trap. After all, he had been quite obvious by demonstrating exactly how _dead_ he wanted the pretender.

However, it wasn't like Nightwing to use a child as bait. And he would see him as a child, wouldn't he? That's why the brat was wearing Robin's colors. Because they didn't _see_ who he really was. He had proven it to them, several times, but they still choose to stay blind.

Jason would have dared to use him so. Or Batgirl. But neither was around. Batman would have too, of course, didn't he put them in the frontlines in the first place? But Batman was still nursing his broken heart.

It had to be a trap. _Or_ the leaguer had caught one of the Robins' worst habits. _Disobedience_.

"Birdie, birdie", Tim sing-songed.

He followed him for a few minutes, observing, just in case. Tim had always been _gifted_ in following bats and birds. Ah, ornithology! But not here, no sight of the slightest wing around – no feathers, no leathers.

The wanna-be birdie stopped on a roof. Oh, he was still_ hurt!_ Tim was _so_ going to remind him he should stay _down_. Maybe take some _medicine_. A good punch on the head and he would sleep like an angel!

Tim slid silently bind the resting leaguer, grinning.

"Are you lost?" he asked.

The brat _snarled_ in answer – oh, yes! And they started to dance. One-two-three, _pirouette!_ And we start again. The little pest didn't know the steps, poor thingie.

It was almost fun, actually. The un-bird might have been a killer born and raised, but his moves were so _predictable!_ Tim could _see_ the most probable trajectory of his limbs and made sure he wouldn't be there for the brat to hit. Fighting Jason had been _much_ harder.

And as far as banters were concerned, he certainly wasn't the best of the nest.

"_I_ am going to stop you."

Tim laughed. The very idea was ludicrous.

"You are _nothing!_"

"I am Robin", he dared to answer. "And I _will_ put a stop to your activities. Right now."

Tim felt the pain in his shoulder – a surprise, _finally_ – and pouted. His suite was _ruined!_ It was one of his favorite. Huh!

Another batarang pierced his other shoulder, pinning him effectively against the wall. He had to admit the brat had strength to manage such a move, even if he had had to actually _jump on him_. Tim hoped he didn't have _lice!_

Thankfully, the brat took a step back. Then started drawing his katana. Tim's grin could have eaten his face away. _Finally, _the _crow_ showed its true colors. Black and black, and maybe – plic, ploc – some _drops_ of red.

Slowly, Tim titled his head back, offering him his throat. Oh please, please, let him _cut it_.

"Go on", he begged. "_Please_."

Show them who you really are, he didn't say. Prove yourself _unworthy_. You were always meant to fail.

The brat pressed his blade against Tim's skin. Its delicious coldness made him shudder with need. Oh yes, yes, _cut it_ – and he _did_. Slash, blood, metal ripping against cartilage…

Or not.

Tim coughed, blood soaking his shirt, but not _enough_, no, no, this wasn't done _properly! _He could still move, he could still _breathe!_

"Party pooper", Tim commented, annoyed. "You've ruined my suit."

The brat was so tense, so sure of himself. He didn't expect Tim to grab one of the blades with his barely protected fingers, tearing it from the wall to throw it. He _had_ used the things years before the pretender had set foot on Gotham, hadn't he? And here they had been _given_ to him!

The first missed; the second hit the brat's bad shoulder. Even _him_ had to whimper, then. _Finally _a song! Tonight was a first time for _so many_ beautiful things! A knife followed, right next to the batarang, and the kid fall on a knee. Beautiful!

Then a red veil passed before Tim's eyes. Ah, right. Blood loss. He should go. But Robin was _right. There!_ But he had to cut some pieces of him before killing him, right? _Break another little piece of my heart, oh darling…_ Yes.

Tim lifted an imaginary hat off his head to salute him – he didn't trust his balance enough to actually bow.

"This was a _wonderful night_, ladies and gentlemen! I hope to see you all for the sequel!"

And he took a step backward, letting himself fall.

sososo

"I'm sending Damian to Clark."

Dick had made it a statement, not a question. He should never have made it a question in the first place; he should never have waited. Bruce looked at him, intense as always despite his pallor. He was too weak to stand by himself but his presence still filled the room.

"What happened?"

Dick started pacing. Bruce's bedroom didn't have much space for such an exercise, but impossible wasn't Grayson. He'd always felt the need to move, to express his nervousness.

"He's fine. Mostly."

Bruce didn't say anything. He had learnt that trick from Clark; to just _look_ at people, waiting. Dick knew Bruce himself hated when it was used against him but obviously he wasn't above doing it to others.

"He tried to confront Tim by himself. I don't know what he tried to accomplish! And before you say anything, _yes_, I'm _aware_ that me being pissed at him for disobeying like that is the worst kind of irony. Fuck karma! I'm worried sick, Bruce."

"You said he is fine", Bruce said, his voice quiet.

Dick nodded.

"_Mostly_. He actually passed out before reaching the manor. I found him on the grounds."

He shuddered at the memory. The pool of blood growing beneath the child's body…

"But his wounds were treated in time. He'd better not use that shoulder for some weeks, though." Dick sighed. "And I really shouldn't be telling you this, should I? You're supposed to rest."

Bruce frowned.

"I will rest for as long as necessary. It doesn't mean I shouldn't hear about important news."

Dick stopped pacing to sit next to him on the bed, slipping his arm around Bruce's shoulders to curl against him.

"You're supposed to avoid _shocks_."

"I'm afraid my heart will have to accommodate our current familial situation."

The slightly humorous tone made Dick shudder. He huddled up closer to him.

"No, Bruce. No. Just… Please."

_I am _terrified, he didn't dare to voice. Bruce's heart had _stopped_. He'd had _heart_ _surgery_. And now… Maybe it would start again. Maybe it would _stop_. Dick closed his eyes, trying to push the thoughts away.

It was hard, though. Bruce was accepting his state gracefully for now, but it wouldn't last. He didn't know how to stop, when to draw a line. Dick remembered seeing him with his back broken and thinking _this is the end_. But it hadn't been, against all odds. Bruce never stopped. Batman had risen once more.

But this time? It was his _heart_ for God's sake!

A hand caressed his hair.

"Dick."

He opened his eyes. Bruce was looking at him, close and intense, as if he could read his most private thoughts. It was more intimate than a kiss.

"Everything is going to be alright. Jason is safe. Damian will be fine. When is Clark picking him up?"

"In one hour, as soon as he finishes his day at the Planet."

Bruce frowned. Dick couldn't help but to smile.

"He wanted to come sooner, but Damian isn't going out any time soon. Besides, I called Jason to tell him what he just pulled of."

Bruce titled his head.

"Jason might _congratulate_ him."

"Not after what happened to Babs. And almost to Luthor, too."

_Not with you confined to the bed_, he didn't add. Bruce would hear it anyway.

"How did he find Tim?"

Of course Bruce would ask. Dick sighed.

"He wandered on the roofs. Tim attacked him spontaneously."

"Mh."

"We are _not _using Damian as bait."

"Mh."

"_Bruce._"

"I didn't say anything."

Dick grumbled. It wasn't like Bruce could pull it off before Clark's arrival, anyway. But bantering about this felt wrong. Damian was only a child, he had been _hurt_…

God, when did he become such an _adult? _He could hear his younger self saying "_bo-ring!_".

"A penny for your thoughts."

"Nothing interesting. I was thinking about the past."

Dick closed his eyes again, to feel surrounded by Bruce's presence. To melt in his smell.

He couldn't stand the idea of a world where he wouldn't be.

"In a good way, I hope."

"Always", Dick assured him.

"Mh. I suppose Clark will want to see me."

Of course he would. What Bruce was actually asking was, _will you let him?_

"Yes, he will. I will tell him to go soft on you."

Bruce's hand started petting his hair, two fingers nestling on Dick's neck. Dick relaxed. He was still there. He was fine. Maybe later he would push his body again, but for the time being – he was right there with him.

sososo

It was late, more early morning than deep night. The few people in the precinct were staggering with exhaustion, empty coffee mugs were piling around the sink. The files' neat notes were blurring away. Jim removed his glasses to massage his eyes. He was damn tired. Maybe it was time to go back home, or just to crash on one of the emergency bed available in the infirmary nearby.

Then of course, his phone decided to ring. He contemplated the idea of not picking up for all of five seconds before answering.

"Jim Gordon, GCPD."

"Hello Jim", said a hoarse, familiar voice on the line. "I was afraid you might be sleeping."

He had Batman on the phone. Jim blinked. Was he really that tired? His brain caught up, reminding him Batman hadn't been seen lately. Oh, there had been rumors, but anyone could wear a cape. Besides, the legend was so ingrained into Gotham's criminals now that a curtain flying at the wind could make people weep.

But he had not been talking with Jim, on the GCPD's rooftop.

"I was contemplating the idea", Jim admitted.

"I suppose I should, as well."

Jim waited. If Batman was calling, he had a reason. There was no need to ask him, he would tell.

"I won't be around for some time."

"Now isn't the time to leave Gotham." Jim shouldn't have to point that out. Not to _him_. "We've been having problem with the underground."

"I know. I didn't mean… Batman will be there. But not me."

Jim blinked as he reevaluated the situation from 'he is calling because he is far away' to 'he isn't able to come closer'. That was a scary thought.

"I suppose whoever will be in charge is competent."

Jim didn't want to talk about the aftermath after whole Bane thing, but he _did_ remember how bad things had degenerated.

"Yes, don't worry, things are… taken care of. This isn't why I called." A silence. "I wanted to come in person but this option is currently unavailable."

Which confirmed Jim's fears. Made them worse, actually. Batman didn't feel like he was kept away by some urgent matter, but more like if he couldn't _physically_ drag himself to the precinct.

"Jim. The Joker is dead."

That actually left him speechless for a whole minute.

"_What?_"

"I don't have actual proof, but I'm fairly certain it's the case. The person operating in his name is a new player. He is also the one who tried to take over the families' businesses."

"_When did you intend to share that information, for God's sake!?_"

One or two heads turned to him. Jim swore and walked into his office – he hated using it, because it kept him away from what was actually happening, but the damn place had the advantage to allow some privacy.

He would have liked to see their faces if they'd knew who he had just shouted on.

"I thought you would have noticed the change in MO."

"He changes MO _all the fucking time!_"

"As I said, I have no proof."

"I still deserved a damn warning!"

Silence answered. Jim froze.

"That's not all, is it?"

A sound on the other side, like a muffled, pained laugh.

"No, it isn't. The new Joker is…"

Another pause.

"Jim, it's _Tim_."

"Oh God…"

Jim couldn't finish his sentence. He was the Commissioner; he was supposed to be fair, not to let things get personal. For that matter he was supposed to _arrest_ vigilantes. But this? _This?_ The law could go to hell.

"The Joker had him in custody the whole time. He broke him, Jim. He…" Batman inspired. "He just broke him."

The man had not even stopped at his name. The situation was _that bad_. Tim Drake. _Robin_. The boy had been so _bright!_

"God, I can't believe it", Jim whispered.

"You have to." This time, the voice had Batman's imperative again. "He needs to be stopped. My… replacement won't be able to face him."

That meant it was going to be Dick. Nightwing. Yeah, Jim could see how he wouldn't have the guts to face his _little brother_ whom he _didn't manage to save_.

Jim shook his head. He needed some time to analyze the implications of this mess.

"Tim Drake killed the Joker", was the first to come to mind.

"Yes. There probably isn't a body to be found."

"Damnit."

Jim felt like a thousand years old. What happened to Barbara… Now _this_. Fuck. How long would he manage to keep going with this life?

And yet, he would. Someone _had to_.

"You aren't coming back, are you?" he asked softly.

It was a hard question. He had to wait a few seconds before getting an answer.

"I might not be able to. A friend already pointed out to me how irresponsible it would be from me to take the cowl back after this. Insistently." Considering the amount of irritation in his voice, Jim's bet was on Superman. "Jim, he's going to need your help."

Jim sighed.

"You didn't tell him yet?"

"I can't. He might feel relieved that I won't be putting myself in danger anymore, but he… Jim, he hates wearing the cowl. It's not his place. He's _good_ at it, it's just… It's not _him_."

"It's not. But he became a strong young man."

"Yes. He can handle it. _After_."

After Tim Drake would be dealt with, Jim completed. He nodded absently.

"I will help him until you're fit enough to take care of this mess."

"Thank you."

"Batman… Take care of yourself."

The man on the line sighed.

"I might not have any choice in the matter."

sososo

Jason was bent on his computer and notes, trying to work. Key word: trying. Kon moped so hard he could practically hear his thoughts out loud.

Jason massaged the bridge of his nose. This wasn't the day to play the babysitter. He had to wrap up this project for the next day and wouldn't be able to do so in the evening since he was to escort Lex to some charity. '_Networking is the key to success_', Lex had said.

Yeah, right. The jerk just loved to find reasons to dress him like a penguin – the _bird_, not the criminal. So he could remove all those annoying layers of clothes later on. At least, it would hopefully end up with amazing sex.

Anyhow, it left no time for cheering up superpowered teenagers. Unfortunately, this was like an every-day occurrence, lately. Since Kon had learnt about Tim, he had been sighing around like some puppy.

Jason got it, alright? Tim was his _brother_. But for Christ's sake, couldn't Kon _brood_ instead, like a proper supervillain's heir? Did he _have_ to take after his other father?

Though Kon might be obvious in his feelings, he wasn't as much of a boyscout as Clark. Jason frowned. The kid had been ruminating for too long.

"You are not going to Gotham, kid."

Kon startled. Point to Jason. Then of course, the brat glared at him, red-eyes effect and all.

"Stop treating me like a child!"

"Don't protest like it's a shame. It isn't. It's a _privilege_. One you might want to hold on to, because once it's gone, it doesn't come back."

And wasn't that a lessons no teenager ever got?

"I could find him. I could _talk to him_."

"Which would be useless. And you can't find him, trust me. I tried."

"I know you tend to overlook them but I've got _superpowers_."

"Which didn't help to find him when he has been abducted. I doubt they can help now. You _aren't going to Gotham_. Don't even _try_ to pull that off."

Kon exploded.

"Why should I even listen to you!?"

Jason fought back a sigh. Resigned to have to decline sex in order to finish his project, he closed the laptop and got up.

"Let's say you find him. You try to talk to him. He tries to kill you – no, don't look at me like that. He tried with _me_. Just imagine he might with you as well, for the sake of conversation." Kon didn't quite relax but also stopped trying to protest. Jason kept going. "So. You overpower him because he didn't get his hands on kryptonite. Then what? What do you do with him then, Kon?"

"I bring him back here!"

Damn. _Kids_. That kind of short-term thinking was the reason why Kon still fell in the category.

"And what do you think _we_ are going to do with him?"

Jason wasn't going to point out that they had been trying to locate Tim in order to _kill _him. He damn hoped Kon would never grow up in that kind of adult. That's what Lex and he were there for. Making decisions others couldn't, shouldn't make.

"You will talk with him too?" Kon tried, but he was starting to waver.

"Last time I tried that, he cut me into pieces. Well, he took away some flesh anyway."

Kon looked away. Jason shook his head.

"What I would do is, I would put him in prison. Except considering how fucked up he is, he can plead insanity. Hell, he doesn't even have to try, they'll figure it out in five minutes. I mean, he dresses up like the Joker."

The kid's eyes were open wide. He had thought about prison, possibly. He hadn't gone so far as to think of…

"Arkham?" he said, his voice flat.

Jason nodded, dark.

"Arkham."

The word tasted like puke in his mouth. He had avoided talking about it with Lex. They both knew the deal anyway. Either they would get their hands on Tim first, or…

"Don't go to Gotham, kid. Let the Bat handle this."

"Bruce is going to… But Tim is his _son!_"

Jason repressed a shudder.

"Yes, Bruce is going to. If you have an alternative, please, do point it out."

But there wasn't any. Kon curled up, those big shoulders of his falling. Jason took a few steps to put a hand on his arm – but the bell interrupted him. Jason swore.

"Who the hell…"

He went to check the camera. Damian glared back at him.

"Let me in, Todd. This man is willing to get rid of me", he added, pointing an aggravated Clark next to him.

What _now?_ Well, if Jason didn't get the sex, he could as well avoid the whole networking. Lex wouldn't be pleased, though.

"Get in."

He opened the door. He glanced over Kon, who waved at him and disappeared into his room. He had been mostly living here since Damian had moved in with Clark, not to have to share a room with the demon spawn. Jason supposed that hoping the both of them to get along had been a bit overoptimistic.

The elevator door opened, letting Clark and Damian in.

"Not that I'm not glad to see you both, but I have work to do", Jason said, not bothering to hide his displeasure.

"I'm sorry to drop in unannounced", Clark said, obviously not very happy himself. "Could you take care of Damian for the evening?"

"You are asking me to put up Bruce's son in Lex's Tower?" Jason asked, incredulous.

"He didn't leave me much of a choice."

Jason tensed. _Bruce_ was the one calling Clark away. Which meant they had taken too long. Fuck. _Fuck._

"Yeah, alright", Jason agreed, defeated. "Of course he can stay. Clark…"

Clark nodded. His usually confident features were now grim.

"I will do my best."

Jason nodded. He'd never felt more impotent than when he watched Superman leave to go help stopping his little brother.

sososo

Clark, admittedly, wasn't very good at glaring. Superman, on the other hand, _was_.

"This is insane, Bruce. It's only been a month."

Bruce didn't bother to answer him and kept carefully putting his suit on. After all, Kal didn't ask any question, did he?

Moreover, it was already_ a month_. A month of Dick going out as Batman without backup. Bruce couldn't blame him for sending Damian away, but only because Damian was unable to patrol with those wounds. Dick was good, really good at what he did – but experience had proved that Batman worked better in a team.

Not only because that meant having someone at his back. But that meant _having someone_.

"_Bruce_."

"No names."

"We are still in the Cave! Alright. _Batman_. It is _still_ insane."

The armor was heavy. He didn't remember it to be so restrictive. But he could still move in it. The gloves, now.

"Are you even listening to me?" Kal insisted.

"If you are going to be like that all along, do leave."

Kal didn't find anything to retort this time. He was only there because Bruce _wasn't_ a fool and actually asked him for help. Contrarily to what people pretended, he knew what he could do – and what he could not.

"You have to _rest_. You can't just… What if we don't find him today?"

"We will."

Tim certainly knew about what happened to Bruce. He might pretend not to know their identities, but his brain wouldn't have forgotten such crucial information – information which _made him Robin_ in the first place. Even without this significance, Tim had known for too long for it to be erased. It was part of who he was.

Intelligent as he still was, he'd figured out that Bruce would no longer be Batman. He would know there would be no other opportunity to talk. This was Bruce's last patrol.

He tried not to think about it too hard.

"Did you realize what it will do to Dick if anything happens to you?"

Bruce stiffened. Then put on the belt. There was no point answering. He wouldn't change Kal's mind; the point was, Kal couldn't change his.

"Bruce…"

"Are you _done?_ You know why I'm doing this."

That shut him up at last. Because of course, he knew. Bruce hadn't had to give any explanations. He had called; Kal had come, no questions asked. Because none were needed.

Tim had to be stopped. And the one to stop him had to be Bruce, because an outsider would be unacceptable and – and the other members of the family just couldn't. Dick managed the cowl, had taken care of everything else, but he wasn't _processing_ what happened to Tim.

He didn't even talk about it. Oh, he worried about Kon's reaction, or what Tim could do to Damian, or about his next move. But he totally ignored Tim himself. Or what they had to do with him.

Bruce suspected Jason to have realized. He didn't blame him for running away.

There was only one thing they could do with Tim. And it was Bruce's responsibility to take care of it. Then only could Dick take charge of everything else.

Bruce put on the cape, then turned toward the Batmobile.

"Let's go."

sososo

Batman climbed the side of a building, painfully slow, stopping regularly to catch his breath. He had been going around for half an hour now. He was taking the easiest route, granted, the one every Robin had learnt first. But still. _What was he doing?_

Tim chewed his lips. Batman had no reason to be there. _That_ Batman, anyway. The other one, the younger, obviously not-original one, was busy at the other side of town with some of Tim's henchmen. Just a distraction, really, a cute little set up to give Tim time to come up with something bigger.

But then, he had been interrupted by old grandpa-Batman patrolling despite his broken heart. One was supposed to _nurse_ those things back to health. Tim knew! He had lost someone dear not that long ago, himself.

But no. Batman had now reached the rooftop and contemplated the city beneath. Or just waited for said heart to calm down. _Idiot_. Did he _want_ Tim to attack him?

… Actually, that sounded like him. He wouldn't use his demon child as bait, no, but himself? Of course he would. _Idiot, idiot!_ And he was without backup, of course. As if he could _win_. In this state! Tim had had nothing to do with his first heart failure, but he certainly wouldn't be one to sneer at such an opportunity.

In the other hand, he was not keen on being _predictable_. No. He would stay unseen, following him from afar. He was able to stalk him across the whole city without Batman noticing – he had done it for _years_ as a child. And now? He was much, much better than he had been.

Tim slid silently from shadow to shadow. It was easy. Batman wasn't moving fast. He went on one rooftop at the time, along Park Avenue then turning off toward St James street. Tim stayed higher than him, making sure Batman didn't escape his sight – if he did, Tim might not find him again, even in this state.

Batman went toward the library. Tim climbed on a nearby church – then his foot _slipped_. Cursing silently, he grabbed the stones and retreated to a nearby school roof instead. Luckily, Batman seemed to change route, following roughly the same direction.

He was keeping it near the streets. Good. He was going toward Old Gotham. Even better: if Tim could climb on the top of the clock tower, he would be able to follow Batman's movement all over the neighborhood from that unique vantage point.

Tim took some advance, to give himself time to climb the tower. It was one of the highest one in Gotham, one Batman would avoid in his current state. The only escape route implied a long, long fall which would do no good to one's heart.

During his climb, Tim stopped once or twice to check Batman was still around. He was. Actually, he stumbled upon some reckless dude trying to rob an old woman – at least Batman would have been useful once in this long, pointless night.

Tim reached the highest level of the tower and settled on one of the gargoyles. Now, where was he…? Tim frowned. Batman was nowhere to be seen. Had he accelerated right when Tim had been climbing the last bit of wall? No, here he was: right in front of him, actually, looming over some company's building. Higher than he had been for the rest of the night, Tim noted. Something wasn't right.

That's when the gargoyle dissociated from the wall. There was no explosion, nothing, as if the event was accidental. Tim found himself falling to the ground. He swore.

Until a grapple wrapped up around his ankle, slowing him down. Tim bent to cut it, but too late. It was tensing already, hanging him upside down. The angle thankfully hadn't sent him smashing against the building's windows. This had all been calculated. Batman had anticipated that he would follow without showing himself, he had known in what place he would most likely hide.

_That was not fair!_

Another grapple caught Tim's right arm. He managed to dodge the left one once, but not twice. The ropes were then released while the hooks closed around his wrists. They had to include some kind of magnet because they pulled each other until Tim's hands were effectively tied together. Then, slowly, he felt himself dragged to the rooftop.

There, Batman was waiting.

"Tim."

"Don't call me that!" he snarled.

"Robin…"

"_Don't call me that!_ You have no _right!_ Let me go."

"I'm afraid I can't."

Tim struggled but the damn things were made of metal and had no locks. He felt himself panicking.

"What are you _doing? _You can't hold me prisoner, you _can't!_"

"You need help."

Tim froze. Horror came over him.

"No. No! No, no, _nononono_…"

He couldn't breathe. Batman couldn't do that. No!

"_Please_", he pleased. "I'll be a nice boy! I swear!"

Batman unfastened the grapple around his ankle. In a second, Tim was on his feet, running toward the edge. Something tackled his feet, making in fall. He only could put his hands in front of his head not to bang it to the floor. Then, he started crawling.

He couldn't do that, no, _no!_

"You can't bring me _there!_ You can't _keep me in!_"

"Tim…"

Batman's voice sounded wretched. _How dare he?_ He had no _right!_

"It will never hold me! You know I will escape. The Joker _always escapes!_"

"The Joker did", Batman admitted.

He tried to lift Tim, who struggled even more. Mercilessly, he clasped another bound around his ankles, binding them together. Tim bucked and pleaded, to no avail. They were soon getting back down the street, where the Batmobile was waiting for them.

"Let me go, _let me go, letmegoyoucantplease_…" Tim babbled, terrified.

Batman hesitated.

"The Joker", he said quietly, "isn't afraid from Arkham."

Tim swallowed. Then nodded. He was right. The Joker wasn't afraid of anything. Because nothing could hurt him. It was the _point_, wasn't it?

Batman nodded. He set down Tim on the backseat, then settled himself on the front. The car's engine roared.

Tim tried hard not to blink. The Joker didn't cry.


	4. Iron shoes into burning coals

_Note: Katherine, thanks a lot for your review! It means a lot to have feedback and, wow, I'm glad you liked the story so much! I hope you'll enjoy what follows as well._

**Chapter 4 – Iron shoes into burning coals**

Cons hit the bars with whatever they found: toothbrushes, their own heads, other cons. Madmen applauded and howled. Free time had been restricted, control of the different areas of the asylum had increased, doors were locked twice and double checked, to Harvey Dent's greatest pleasure.

The guards were tense, walking in pairs.

"Is it true?" they whispered.

"Yeah, it is."

They might be the only gothamites who weren't reassured by the most recent news.

The Joker was back in Arkham.

Of course, the doctors and guard knew – it was hard not to notice the younger, prettier face, the shorter frame, the limited self-assurance. It wasn't the same Joker as before, but it still was _a_ Joker. Which was more than enough.

They had locked him in his usual place, in the most restricted area. One had to pass four checkpoints with the adequate face, keys and fingerprints, to only _get_ there. Then, one had to walk down the most secure corridor in Gotham, on an electrified floor, passing the cells of the most dangerous men, to reach the door.

The cell itself was small, not giving enough room for one to pace, barely enough for one to stand. The Joker wasn't standing, anyway. He was sitting on the padded floor, his now dark-haired head laying against the padded wall, his blue eyes staring at nothing.

The face, they had found out, did wear makeup. Which didn't, however, hide a normal skin. Though not inhumanely porcelain-white in its entirety like it had been for the previous owner of the same name, the man's skin was mostly _spotted _white. Most of his face was so altered, and his neck, shoulders and arms. So was his back and major part of his chest. His legs only had a few stains.

Where it wasn't chalky, the skin was unhealthily ashen.

With his dye and red lipstick removed, his colorful clothes replaced with the standard immaculate pants and shirts, he looked like a black-and-white cartoon. Even his eyes were too unfocused for their color to stand out.

They had put him into a straightjacket. Just in case.

He didn't move. That didn't exactly reassure any of the staff members.

Contrarily to what some might pretend, though, their aim wasn't only to detain but also to _help_ their inmates. Moreover, they knew who _this one_ was. They had a name, a family, _ground_ to start a conversation. They were willing to reach to him, despite the deaths this man had caused and the terrifying name he had acquired.

They were _very_ willing to _understand_. They knew he had had close contact with the previous Joker. This might be the only occasion to learn _more_ about the man.

"Timothy, do you hear me?"

Unfortunately, the patient wasn't very cooperative. Dr Ulrich suppressed a sigh and wrote down a few notes on her pad. She had been one of the few in which curiosity had won the fight over fear. But her first session wasn't going well so far.

"I am sure you do. You are a bright boy, Timothy." She wouldn't let herself forget how young her patient was, barely 18. "You know where you are, and you know why."

The guards fidgeted at her sides. She had tried to send them away, despite the risk, but the procedure required two of them to be with her in the cell while she interviewed the patient, at least until he agreed to consider her his therapist.

She found this contrary to deontology: even though she wasn't his doctor yet, she still considered him her patient. Then again, he wasn't talking.

The guard from the left moved a little too much. She tapped her pad with the point of her pen to call him to order. Thankfully, he stopped, even looked away in shame.

She never saw the child move. Suddenly, her pen wasn't in her hand anymore, then she saw his face, right next to hers. She noted how _pretty_ he was, more so than hers, which was unfair. Then she realized he had her pen in his mouth. Then her throat started hurting.

The guards began to scream and to move around. Dr Ulrich fell to the ground. They called for help, then cursed. Blood was splashing everywhere; the artery had been torn open. More people arrived, the alarmed started howling. Medics were called.

Through the general confusion, ignoring the guards who tried to restrain him even more than the straightjacket did by itself, the Joker looked at the blood. And smiled.

He was, indeed, _back_.

sososo

Bruce knew the profile of Arkham Asylum's dark gray walls by heart. He had visited the place more often than he could count, had memorized its map and could get in undetected in a dozen different ways – which was worrying at best.

This time, however, the sun shone in the sky while Alfred drove his black Lamborghini through the gates. For the third time, Bruce Wayne visited the place officially. The first two times, it had been for some donations. Now, however…

The car parked in the courtyard. He folded his newspaper while Alfred got out and walked around the car. "_THE WAYNE JOKER KILLS AGAIN!_" screamed the headline. Considering the amount of journalist they had seen at the gate, the next news would probably be something about Bruce finally visiting.

It had taken weeks and all the Wayne's influence to get the necessary authorizations. And a lot of money. Bruce hated to use the very corruption he fought so much against, but this was different. This was _Tim_.

Alfred opened the door. He stepped out of the car, ignoring the noises coming from the gate. It was situated far enough from the main entrance for them to be mostly in the backgrounds. Good photographers might be able to take a shot, even at that distance, but Bruce didn't intend to hide his visit to his adoptive son. He wouldn't show shame.

The warden, Quincy Sharp, came in person to welcome him. He gave Bruce his hand to shake and started blabbing nonsense about how Arkham worked and could be improved, already fishing for a donation. Bruce pursed his lips.

"I am sure we can discuss this later", he said dismissively. "Pray bring me to him."

"There are several security protocols…"

"Which I'm sure the security guards will be happy to explain to me. Won't you, mister…?" Bruce asked, turning to one of the guards he knew to actually care about his job.

"North, sir. And yes, of course, we can explain this to you inside."

Bruce nodded.

"So who is the doctor in charge of Timothy?"

"That would be Dr Cassidy", Sharp tried to intervene. "She's waiting for you in the hall."

Bruce didn't wait to be invited inside. After one last glance to Alfred, he climbed the stairs, bracing himself for what was coming.

He kept cutting Sharp short, enough so for the man to take his leave after ten minutes only. Then, he started actually talking with Dr Cassidy, one of the most competent psychiatrists in Gotham. She tried not to be too discouraging, but didn't lie about Tim's state.

"He is hard to diagnose since he doesn't cooperate at all, but at the very least he has severe PTSD and a dissociative identity disorder. Not up to the point to have memory loss – those cases are actually very rare – but enough so for his body language to switch distinctively."

"But he doesn't qualify as psychopathic."

"I didn't reach a definitive conclusion on the matter", she said.

Which meant Tim did show psychopathic tendencies. He did kill people, apparently not caring about them at all. If he really had lost touch with himself enough not to consider people _people_ anymore…

"Please let me know when you have set your opinion. Tim is… was a good, caring boy." Bruce didn't have to fake his voice breaking. "Whatever the Joker did to him… I hope there is something of that boy left in him."

The doctor's features barely softened.

"We will do our best considering the circumstances, Mr Wayne."

Bruce pursed his lips, but nodded. She hadn't given up though her colleague had been killed doing the exact job she had been given.

It was hard to be understanding.

"Be aware that the Jo… that Timothy is being restrained", she warned. "For your safety and his own. His movements have to be entirely impaired in order for this meeting to be possible. Do you understand?"

Bruce tensed. Bracing would only prepare him that much.

"Are you sure you are ready for this?" Dr Cassidy insisted.

"I am. I have to", he added.

She frowned, but didn't interrupt their advance which was all Bruce asked for. They reached the last checkpoint in silence. Then crossed the last corridor. Then the cell.

The door opened. Bruce breathed in.

Tim was sitting on a chair, feet bound to the ground, restricted in a straightjacket. Which was itself bound to the chair, making sure he wouldn't be able to even twitch.

He saw Bruce and grinned. It was the most terrifying thing Bruce had ever seen.

"Tim."

"Oooh, a _visit!_" the teenager said in a high-pitched voice which wasn't his own. "How charming of you! Did you bring _flowers_? I would propose you a cup of tea, but they wouldn't let me handle boiling water, you see?"

"_Tim_", Bruce insisted.

"Do I have to do the 'not currently available' joke? It would be quite distasteful, considering how common it is, but if you really insist…"

"You are aware this is your name."

Bruce didn't phrase it as a question. Tim grinned, his Joker's persona convincing but not perfect. His eyes were too tired, too alive – they still reflected emotion where the Joker's never did. Except while fighting with Batman; which was another matter.

"You wear a very nice tie", Tim commented instead than answering to this non-question. "It matches the color of your eyes perfectly."

"I heard you preferred red, lately."

Tim sighed with satisfaction.

"Red is _perfect_. I don't get many other colors around here, anyway, now, do I?"

"I will bring flowers next time", Bruce decided. "You're aware I'll have to take them away with me after the visit, though?"

"Aw, I'm _flattered_. Do you really think I'm able to kill someone with a flower?"

"You've always been very imaginative."

Tim actually _blushed_. Bruce wondered how he managed that one.

"You're right. Maybe pushing them into someone's throat. Or in the nose? Do you think I could get them to the brain? I would require some additional tools, of course, but…"

Bruce concentrated not to feel physically sick. Tim was trying to provoke him. That was all.

Did he kill all those people just to get attention?

"Of course, blades are the best", Tim kept going. "I mean, it's not as customized but it's still personal, you know? To feel its cold on your skin. It's almost _sensual_."

Bruce didn't interrupt him. Maybe the poison had to get out. Tim kept talking, his tone never getting even angry or aroused, as if they were having a very normal conversation. It took ten solid minutes of monologue for silence to come back.

"Are you done?" Bruce asked.

"I could go on forever, as I'm sure you know."

"Do you really want to waste our time like this? There are only twenty minutes left. Next visit isn't scheduled before next week, I didn't manage to be allowed in every day. They want to assess your reaction to me first."

Tim smirked, the Joker fading into mean anger.

"And I'm supposed to care, _because?_"

Bruce looked around. Then back at Tim. Who was staring at his tie, though his eyes quickly went back to his when he realized he was looking.

He wanted to tell him how much Alfred worried. How Dick couldn't even say his name. How Damian felt wronged by Tim's betrayal. How much they all wanted him to get better, to be himself again.

But he obviously couldn't.

He needed to find neutral ground before starting any kind of conversation. And maybe there was one thing, in the world, which was neutral enough.

"Pawn in E4."

Tim blinked.

"What did you say?"

"I took upon myself to choose the whites. Pawn in E4."

"What, without even a chessboard, Bruce?" Tim laughed.

"You don't need one. What is your move?"

Tim swallowed, showing insecurity for the first time, his eyes burning with need.

"You have no right to do this. No. Right!"

His voice reached Joker's shrill again, his words ones from a child pouting. Bruce looked at him in the eyes, not backing off. Tim bit his own lip. A small drop of blood appeared, slowly sliding on his chin. He didn't do anything to stop it.

Bruce fought not to show any emotion, not to reach for him, not to touch his cheek and hold him. He wasn't sure Tim wouldn't take the opportunity to bite his throat off. The journalists sure would enjoy _that_ happening.

"Knight in C6", Tim whispered.

Bruce didn't exactly relax. But this was a first step, in the right direction.

sososo

It became a pattern quickly. Bruce would come in, Tim would attack, taunt, laugh, bite, lie, pretend to be the Joker. Then they would play chess. Those were the good days.

On the bad days, Tim wouldn't seem to notice him. He would just look empty, his eyes unfocused, barely blinking. Those times, Bruce tried to talk about his days, softly, just trying to get an answer out of him.

Both were draining. He always got back to the manor exhausted, with Dick waiting for him but never asking any question about how Tim was doing.

He never knew in advance how things would go. It was easy to dread the opening of this last door. Tim would wear the Joker's mad grin, or look bored, or just… nothing. Empty.

Bruce swallowed, then nodded at North for him to open the door. Tim looked so _small_ in this straightjacket, even with the cell not exactly roomy. He was thin and getting thinner.

Tim looked up, saw him, recognized him – and _brightened_.

"Bruce!"

The warmth in his voice broke Bruce's heart. It was faked. He knew it was. Which was why it hurt so badly.

"How are you today?" Tim asked, putting on his lips the shy smile he used to have. Then he frowned, faking worry. "Bruce? You look like you've seen a ghost."

The words chosen were fitting, considering that was exactly how it felt. What hurt the most was the realization that he didn't expect Tim to ever get back to this. He had lost that boy forever.

"I'm fine", he forced out, not managing a smile. "How was your day?"

"Well, you know, the usual", Tim said. "What about yours? How are things at Wayne ent.?"

Their polite, _normal_ conversation lasted the whole excruciating thirty minutes of Bruce's visit. Then Tim wished him well.

"See you next week!" he said in such a convincing tone Bruce felt like he wanted to… what? Die? Or maybe just stop feeling anything at all.

"Like every week", Bruce answered softly, before getting out of the cell as quickly as he could.

He could bear the unbearable. He had to.

However, others shouldn't. He had managed to get the permission for more members of the family to visit Tim. Barbara had already applied for a meeting the very next day.

Maybe she should cancel it.

sososo

Wheelchairs could actually go pretty quickly, Dick noted absently, hurrying after Babs. She certainly managed the _stormy_ vibe in wheel as well as in heels. She was as terrifying as ever.

"I can't believe it!" she was snapping. "He tried to cancel my meeting! I don't care what _he_ thinks is best, Tim is Tim. I can't just leave him rot in Arkham and do nothing!"

Dick winced. Noticing it, she stopped long enough to take his hand.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean you should go to. I just need to _do_ something."

Dick smiled. It didn't feel like a smile, but he hoped it looked like one.

"It's okay. There _are_ things to do, however. Your own therapy is far from finished. _And_ I could use a hand with Damian. He got the physical training alright, it's the discipline he needs most. Besides", he added, and this time the warmth in his voice wasn't faked, "you're good at handling Robins."

Babs snorted.

"Thanks but no. I'll let you be the mother figure."

There was also the haunted look in Bruce's eyes to take care of, but Dick doubted his lover let anyone else see _that_. He wasn't even sure sharing it with him was intentional. They just knew each other too well for it not to be obvious.

And it was the Joker – the Joker did that to Bruce.

"I'll be waiting for you here", Dick said when they reached the hall, hoping without conviction not to see the exact same look on _her_ when she'd get out.

"You really don't have to."

He smiled, again, and let her introduce herself to the reception. He watched her as they led her in then settled in a chair.

She hadn't managed to be allowed inside for more than fifteen minutes. They'd said it was necessary to assess the effects of this first visit on the patient before allowing her to stay longer. Dick knew they wanted to assess the effects of the visit on _her_.

He sighed. And waited.

He didn't have to wait for long. Ten minutes later, he heard the distinctive sound of her wheels.

He looked up. She was pale as a ghost. He hesitated to rise then decided against, letting her come to him, staying at her level. She did. He took her hands.

"He was there", she said, her voice just barely shaking. "He said the light was perfect. For the pictures. That they were beautiful. Everything, perfect." She gasped, breathing in. "He knew. He… Dick. He _helped him_."

She was pale and trembling, maybe frightened – or rather… disgusted? For a second, Dick thought she was going to add something then she shook her head, denying, as if this couldn't possibly be happening.

Dick squeezed her hands tighter. Then just pulled her into a hug. She let him, taking the opportunity to hide her face against his shoulder, so no one would see her tears. He ignored the wetness on his shirt, holding her, regretting all the while not to have tried harder to convince her not to come.

Yes, that was a coward's decision – but he'd never visited the first Joker, either. He remembered Damian's pale face, the blood everywhere when he'd found him on the manor's grounds. There was nothing left from Tim here.

After a minute, she straightened up.

"Let's go."

"Your place?"

"Please."

Dick nodded.

She never spoke of visiting the Joker ever again.

sososo

"I saw Barbara the other day" Tim announced proudly in the middle of their chess game.

Bruce didn't feel surprised. He had felt something was amiss since he first entered the cell. He was getting used to Tim's many moods. The hardest was still him faking sanity.

They still hadn't allowed the visits to last longer.

"So I heard."

"She seemed very upset when she left. I wonder why."

He wanted Bruce to ask for more information. They both knew he wouldn't. They both knew Tim would tell anyway.

"Bishop in F2", Bruce said.

Tim pouted. His imitations had more personality than he thought – that, or he didn't really try to mimic the Joker as much as to be his own version of the role. The idea was horrifying.

"Spoilsports. I know you want to know."

"I don't. Aren't we playing?"

"If you play last, I'll have seven whole days to plan my next move", Tim pointed out.

Then he smiled, and Bruce could _see_ the red on his lips. He pointedly avoided showing any emotion whatsoever.

"There are still ten minutes left. We can have several moves before I go."

Tim sighed.

"Pawn from B4 to C5. And she was upset because I knew about the rape. I suspected she wouldn't have told anyone about it. I guess you know – you always do – but probably no one else."

Bruce had hacked into Gotham General records to get that information. That… _incident_ had occurred after Halloween, so he had feared Tim had been part of it. Feared, without much hope.

"I was curious to know if she had felt it, actually. I mean, is it only her legs paralyzed, or also…?" He waved in the air with his chin, his hands being bound. "Even if it's just the legs, maybe the shock would have prevented her from feeling anything. Which would be _disappointing_. I mean, it took me some _time_ to get _there_."

His voice was unnaturally high pitched, once again. It meant that, despise what Tim wanted Bruce to think, he hadn't been the one to rape Barbara. Only the Joker had been responsible. The whole joke had had too much of his MO all over to be even Tim's idea. Oh, that did taste like good old Mistah J.

"Bishop in C5."

Tim narrowed his piercingly blue eyes in thin lines. He was angry for not having unsettled Bruce. Thankfully, the time was almost up.

Bruce winced when he realized what he'd just thought. Coming here wasn't a _duty_. This was for _Tim_, for his son.

A nauseatingly sweet smile appeared on the young man's lips, as if he had read Bruce's mind.

"Oh, already?" Then, in a different, realistically serious voice. "I waited for you, you know." Then a quick smile. "It had been a _week_ already! It felt more like a _year_."

His words felt physically like pikes stabbed in Bruce's chest. He couldn't breathe. Because he knew – he _knew _– when Tim was lying and this hadn't been a lie. And it hadn't been about Arkham, either. This was about Tim having been abducted and having hoped, against all odds, that Bruce would appear to save him. Because he was Robin and Bruce was Batman and that, that was what Batman was supposed to do. To be. To be _for_.

But Bruce hadn't found him. Tim had waited in vain. And now – now he was in Arkham because Bruce had put him there and he didn't _want_ to see Bruce anymore. The only reason why he tolerated his visits was because he needed to talk to _someone_ not to sink even deeper into madness.

And now that he didn't want him there anymore, _now_ Bruce showed up every week like clockwork.

Bruce managed to breathe out. Maybe he was mistaken. He knew Tim well, but he wasn't that good with people. He was overthinking it.

Tim wasn't _people_, though. He was _Robin_.

_**Fuck**_.

A beep at the door warned Bruce that the time was up. Tim watched him intently while Bruce rose then exited the room silently. They both knew he had not found anything to answer to Tim's blows.

Bruce kept feeling his eyes on him all the way to the manor.

sososo

The next day, Bruce received a call from Arkham to announce him his visits would be suspended until further notice. Tim had struggled so hard in his bounds after he'd left that he had dislocated both his wrists.

sososo

Sometimes, one of the inmates screamed hard enough for the sound to cross the wall, but most of the time, there was only silence. The guards would patrol in the corridor fourteen times a day – six during actual day time, eight at night, probably because the statistics showed a higher trend to escaping at night.

Because Jack had loved fireworks. Or because he wanted Batman available for the party.

Tim closed his eyes. He felt so _tired_. Nothing smelled like Jack, here. There weren't even any colors. Everything was white. The walls. The grounds. The straightjacket. His skin. The doctor's clothes. Or brown; the new therapist had brown hair, brown eyes – dull, dull, dull. But still better than blue, blue he wanted to stab.

Or green. Robin-green. Huh!

They took about 17.6 steps that Tim could hear to cross the section of the corridor in front of his cell. He savored each of them.

He was so tired. Wanted to sleep. But no, no, no sleep for bad boys!

Jack…

No smell, no color, no sound, no blood, nothing, empty, empty, stupid boy. It had felt so good to kill the first one – warm fluid on his cheek, almost as good as a kiss, as a caress – but now they had bound him and he couldn't move.

They let him out of the chair at night and then, he could feel the padded floor against his face. For five whole minutes, every evening, he savored the sensation, knowing nothing else would touch his cheek that gently once morning would come back.

Yes – yes. Jack had had a point. Night was his favorite part of the day as well.

He would have cried, to feel the wetness roll from his eyes to his chin, deliciously unpredictable. He had done so a few times, pretending to pretend. But alas, that didn't suit the Joker so… No more cookies!

Tim blinked. Even the temperature barely changed at all. Every day was the same day all over again. Routine checks. Same food every week.

Sometimes, the rage made it all fade away. That felt _spectacular_. Other times, it was the lust. God. When he'd break out, he'd have someone fuck him into the stars. And _lick_ him. Everywhere.

Then he'd rip open whoever it would be, to feel his warmth and cover himself in red.


	5. Grandmother's teeth

**Chapter 5 – Grandmother's teeth**

Jason crossed the street full of journalists as quickly as possible without running, bitching internally. Since Lex had started his campaign for the primaries, they were glued to Lex Tower from all sides, and Lex had forbidden him to get in by the windows. _What if they actually manage to see you, Jason?_ He had said.

Fuck him. Jason barely managed not to be blinded by their flashes because, of course, he was news material. Between '_the prodigal son leaves Wayne ent. to join the enemy!'_ and '_The Joker's brother runs away from Gotham'_… Well, at least they weren't about to find out about their relationship.

He smirked at the cameras, barely suppressing a glare, then finally managed to reach the hall.

"Welcome, Mr Todd."

He was _never_ going to get used to that, either. Alfred was one thing. But everyone giving him '_Mr Todd_'…

At least they weren't calling him Wayne. One of the porters had _tried_. Jason's reaction had not been nice: he had sent Mercy on them.

When he reached his office, one floor below Lex's, he found ready a copy of the _Planet_, an _Economical Times_ and a coffee. Jason sighed. When had he turned into an adult?

Though this time there was actually something he wanted to read in the _Planet_. Namely, his own interview, by Lois – hey, he totally had the right to ask her for a favor. As a payment, he promised to give her intel next time Lex would plan anything messy. Not that Lex _would_, Jason made sure of that.

He sat in his tall, leathery black chair. The spacious desk spread along the office's window, its waxed surface reflecting the sunlight. Jason snorted. He was one laugh away from conquering the world.

He opened the newspaper. He had read the first three paragraphs of the article when he heard a tap at the window. He sighed heavily and went to open it.

"You do realize I'm not an actual supervillain and hence I have no need of a wannabe Superman on my balcony?"

Kon slipped inside, sticking his tongue out.

"I deserve a better archnemesis anyway."

"One you can beat?"

The kid pouted. Jason snorted.

"At least try to be quicker at repartee, you have the family reputation to defend."

"You two managed that more than enough by yourself."

Jason smiled, amused, and went back to his desk to finish his coffee.

"So. What can I help you with?"

The boy looked startled.

"Nothing in particular. I mean, I was on my way to school, and I thought I would check on my evil stepmother."

Jason looked at him. Then looked at him some more. Kon started fidgeting. He really should lose that habit if he ever wanted to wear more blues and less blacks.

"Don't tell me you _miss_ the brat?"

Kon cast him an outraged glance, which wasn't convincing at all. Jason snorted. That's how one ended up when a family was thrown at one's face. Especially someone on the puppy side – the kid had gotten attached. To _Damian_, no less. Well, he had been calling Jason his stepmother, after all, he totally deserved Damian as step-brother.

"You're aware Gotham is only one flight away, right? You can visit him any time you'd like."

"In _Batman's city?_" Kon gasped, and didn't he integrate well enough the rule Bruce had drilled into everybody's mind: no one got to intervene in Gotham.

Jason sipped the last drops of his Lazarus water – sorry, coffee. Both were strong enough to bring people back from the dead, after all.

"You visited before."

_To see Tim_ was left unsaid. Tim wasn't part of their conversations anymore, not since Jason had told him what would happen to him if they found him – not since it _had actually happened_. Thankfully, Kon had never even mentioned the idea of visiting him in Arkham. The kid knew as well as Jason that it wasn't Tim he would see there.

Contrarily to the common misconception created by the number of breakouts, Arkham high-security bloc _wasn't_ that easy to infiltrate, either. Or what was left of Tim wouldn't have a throat left to breathe. Jason had called Mercy off trying after the first three attempts failed. With Lex starting his campaign, it would have been bad publicity.

Jason tried not to think about what his little brother would think of him, had he not turned insane.

"Yeah, but it's not like Damian _wanted_ to see me", Kon sulked.

He was sulking. And he was good at it, too. Damn Supers. Jason rolled his eyes.

"We can visit together next week-end." Kon brightened. "You both need training, anyway." Kon paled.

Jason smirked.

He had lost one brother. He was going to train the two kids left _hard_.

He didn't intend to lose anyone else.

sosososo

The henchmen were looking over their shoulders, their hands tightening around their guns, standing almost back to back. One of them had started to light a cigarette but had reconsidered when he had realized that meant putting his weapon back in its holster.

Their nervousness was appropriate. The five men had been hired by Black Mask to guard one of his biggest methamphetamine laboratories, one of the few that had escaped the Batman's attention. That's to say – until now.

The batarang hit the nearest floor lamp, breaking its bulb. It didn't darken the scene as much as it put the fear of God in the miscreants' heart.

"_It's the Bat!_" one of them shouted, stating the obvious.

The next two lamps exploded in the same way. A shadow covered the sky for one second, causing them to shot blindly. They were afraid, but ready to fight.

Then one of them startled.

"Did you hear that?"

"Yeah, we _saw _him!"

"Not the Bat" the man said, panic-stricken. "_Him_."

They froze – and because of their sudden silence, this time, they all heard it.

"Tt-tt."

"_It's Robin!_"

Guns were dropped on the ground as they started running away, screaming for their lives.

Of course, they ran right into the trap they had previously set. Damian smirked. Those scums would never learn. In ten minutes, not only had the five henchmen been stopped but also the other twelve who were inside the compound, and a call had been made to the GCPD.

Satisfied with his work, Damian climbed to the top of a building nearby to admire the gathering of blue and red lights around the darkened alley. Batman soon appeared at his side. He didn't have to say a word for Damian to perceive his amusement – and his approval.

"You didn't manage to do _that_ in your time, did you?" Damian stated, not bothering to hide the contentment in his voice.

"I didn't", Grayson admitted. "Not that it was the point."

"Tt-tt. If they fear me, they'll fear you even more."

Damian didn't add that Grayson needed the help because it would have been erroneous. To say the truth, the ex-assassin hadn't expected him to be that effective in the Batman's cowl. Grayson had been a suitable replacement while his father had been investigating Drake's abduction, but he had just been that, a replacement.

Now, however… No one would mistake his presence for anyone else than Batman's. It was like he had… _decided_ to make the role his. Which made sense, considering this was not a temporary position anymore.

"Let's head back home", Grayson – _Batman_ – said.

They had not finished their patrol, but, contrarily to Damian's father, he did show a tendency to cut those short when they carried on a big operation. Especially on week days. As if Damian had anything to learn from the below-average classes he had to follow in school during the day! Preposterous.

A gloved hand brushed his hair; another thing his father barely ever did. Damian grumbled, moving away without entirely trying to dodge it. He hated to be considered unskilled.

To be considered like a child wasn't the same thing, he had learnt.

"Let's go, baby bird."

"Tt-tt!" was his sole protestation.

They flew away to the Batmobile, then drove straight home.

sosososo

Bruce double checked the GCPD feed, then his own informants', in case something came up, but nothing did. Dick and Damian were bickering at each other in the Batmobile, unaware of him listening or not caring about it. They went along greatly, probably better than he and Damian had. But then, Dick was his own special brand of magic.

One might almost feel useless. One might almost feel _proud_.

The car arrived few minutes later. Robin got out like a devil from his box, still full of adrenaline. He would be crashing in his bed less than twenty minutes later, asleep even before his head would hit the pillow, Bruce knew.

"Go shower and off to bed!" Dick ordered, half serious, half amused.

Damian grumbled but obeyed. Thinking back even just six months ago, his evolution was quite astonishing.

As soon as he was out of view, Dick removed his cowl and cape with a muttered curse.

"I hate this damn thing" he said, stating the now traditional complain.

"Yet you master it. You've always been good at performing."

Dick rolled his eyes, not taking the compliment for what it was. He might have been raised in a circus, it didn't quite come as easily to everyone. Dick had always moved like he breathed, and the more acrobatics the better. The cape had been forcing him to tune his movements down – but lately, he was using it to give even more of a show.

"I still don't like it. And tomorrow is the usual meeting at the Watch tower. I still don't see why _you_ don't go."

Bruce blinked, surprised. When they had agreed that Dick should take up the cowl, it had felt logical that he would assume all relative responsibilities – not only part of them.

"I'm not Batman anymore."

"You're the one who founded the Justice league with Clark and Diana, Bruce! Not me."

His tone wasn't really resentful as much as pleading, Bruce noted. Then he understood. Dick didn't mind to go; he was just trying to find an excuse so _Bruce_ would have something to do.

It felt… strangely nice. But it was unnecessary. Or, rather, counterproductive.

"You were already Robin when we put it together", Bruce reminded him. "And you can handle it", he added, just in case Dick would have the silly idea to worry about his own skill. "You're better at this than me."

Dick sighed and came to him, putting his arms around the taller man and his head on his shoulder. Bruce kissed his hair, one of his hands finding Dick's hip.

"And I need them to consider me as the Batman, I know", Dick sighed. "Still, it would be nice if you could go."

Bruce kissed his hair again, then his lips. Dick answered with his whole body, relaxing against him as if he had pressed a button. How this amazing young man could think that staying with _Bruce_ of all people was a good idea was entirely beyond his comprehension.

Bruce found himself very lucky.

"You will be perfect." He already was.

Dick looked up to meet his eyes, not asking out loud how Bruce felt about all this. Brue kissed him again. Then again. Because he couldn't force himself to stop.

A strangled gasp coming from the Cave's bathroom door managed where both their will didn't.

"Could you _please_ restrain from doing this in the middle of the Cave?" Damian asked, trying to glare at them and to look away at the same time.

Damn, Bruce really should be more careful; that's how this anecdote about Kal's room had started, too. Dick didn't seem to mind, laughing at Damian's discomfort.

"It's because you should already be in bed. Off you go!"

Damian glared once again, crossing the room to reach the stairs. When he reached their level, Dick brushed the teen's hair. Damian pulled a face, trying to hide a blush, and climbed the stairs at record speed. Dick turned back to Bruce, grinning. Bruce couldn't help but to smile back.

Yes. He was indeed very lucky.

sosososo

There was water dripping on him. Tim blinked. Oh, right, it was shower time. This was one of the bad days, during which awareness would just shut down from time to time. The room was all white tiles and emptiness around him. They always made sure it was, empty, before bringing him in. Then they put him there and fired water at him.

(Firing water. How peculiar.)

His wrists were bound, but he wasn't wearing the straightjacket. Right. It would make it difficult for them to clean him, wouldn't it?

(He had something in his mouth.)

His head hurt a bit. It's the medicine. Ah, no, it isn't. He didn't take it, this time; nor any other time. He found many tricks to make sure of that.

Earlier that day, he received a letter. (Letters aren't allowed in Arkham. And he drove away his two authorized visitors. No one else had ever asked. Good.)

But he still received a letter, in an envelope made of shadows and mist. "One year has passed", it had said. "Our contract comes to an end." That meant the Black fairies had thrown his daughter out. The Joker's daughter! In the streets! (Hopefully on Earth.)

Tim didn't like it at all.

Water was dripping on him. It was white everywhere. He couldn't stand the white.

The hose stopped. No more water. Soon, they would come with towels to dry him. White towels. White clothes. They were always more relaxed around him when it was a bad day. Not entirely so, of course, they knew who he was.

(He really had something in his mouth. He had put it there because he wanted to use if for something. But what was it?)

Earlier, that day, another inmate had broken everything in his room out of rage. It had been wonderful to hear it. There had been a lot of movements around his block after that, guards cursing and chatting. A-mazing.

He was dry. They were already there. They were almost ready to put him back in the straightjacket. In the shower, naked, shuddering, blue-lipped, he looked harmless, he knew. They had given him his medicine right before coming here.

Ah, yes, it was bits of mirror from earlier.

Tim let one of the guards put a hand on his wrist, then cut his throat open. Then did the same to the other one for the sake of symmetry.

One of them had the keys of his manacles in his pocket. Because it was easier to just keep the damn key ring, right? No need to check it out _each time_. It took at least five minutes to fill in the paperwork, then again when going out, and the dear boy wanted to go back home to court his girlfriend. He had bought a ring two weeks ago and had been waiting for the right time to propose.

Too bad.

Tim put on the pants they had prepared for him – white, with red drops. Beautiful! – but left out the straightjacket, obviously. It suited him well but, hey, mode had its requirements. Instead, he stole one of the guards' shirt. White, crusting with blood at the collar. Perfect.

Ah, no, not yet. Tim put a hand in the drying blood, then cleaned it out on his mouth. He smiled. _Now_, it was perfect.

sosososo

_Ending note:_

_And here it is! :) The final chapter._

_Well, you know. Not final-final, I still have two more parts planned for this series. But this sounded like a good moment to put an epilogue, considering the next part will happen many years later._

_It will be called First Kiss and will present an alternate Neo Gotham with her new Batman - Damian._


End file.
